Just About Married
by TheStoriesOfUs
Summary: A collection of one-shots based around the complicated relationship of Michael and Amanda.
1. Morning After

_To preface this: I don't have a clue as to how to do this. This is my first fanfiction and my first time posting on here (so please try to be nice). Anyways, I've noticed that Michael/Amanda fics were a bit hard to come by on here (the ones that I've seen are awesome) so I decided to write some one-shots based off of their relationship, this chapter being when they first met each other. Review and all that stuff and I hope that you enjoy this._

* * *

The first rays of sunlight drug Michael from his deep sleep. He immediately shut his eyes again, though, unwilling or unable to expose himself to the early morning yet. Besides, his bed was nice and warm and he was absolutely drained from the previous night. _Wow, that job took more out of me than I thought_ , he mused. He wasn't about to exit his sleepy state and teetered on the edge of consciousness for about another five minutes.

At least he was until he heard the small snore coming from somewhere to the left of him. His eyes shot open as he sat up abruptly. Pain lanced through his head at the action, the beginnings of a hangover starting to form. A single thought formed in his muddled head as he gazed around the room: this was _not_ his bed. In fact, it wasn't his trailer at all. He closed his eyes and sighed, now tasked with trying to figure out what the hell happened last night.

When it felt like a railway spike wasn't being driven through his skull, his eyes reluctantly fluttered open. Michael squinted against the light as he examined the unfamiliar surroundings wearily. The first thing he noticed was his clothes strewn about the otherwise neat bedroom. Neater than his, at least. It took a moment for his addled mind to register that they were _there_ and not on _him._ He was suddenly acutely aware of the wintry North Yankton air attacking his bare chest and pulled the comforter up a bit further.

Finally, he had enough courage to glance at the girl next to him. Like him, she had no clothes on, her own scattered around haphazardly. Her dark hair fell in front of half of her face, obscuring her pretty features. Subconsciously, he knew that it was soft to the touch. Long lashes rested against her pale skin as she slept. A faint, blurry memory told him that her eyes were a vibrant blue. _Fuck...she's cute_ , he thought as he gazed at her. She looked about his age, early twenties, maybe a little bit younger than him. It took a few more moments to recall her personality, confident and seductive with a sharp sense of sarcasm despite her drunkenness.

He eventually turned away and sat there awkwardly, unsure as to what he should do. It was hardly new for the charming young thief to be in this type of scenario. Most of the time, he just got dressed and left without another word…that was the point of a one night stand, right? As a few hazy memories surfaced of last night, he wasn't quite sure he wanted to.

* * *

 _Michael sat at the bar, nursing the remainder of his third beer. He was in a surprisingly good mood after his most recent heist. No casualties...no injuries...what was there to complain about? Recently, with the more crimes he committed and the more people he killed was getting to him. His crew saw it as him going soft even though he argued he was being smart._

 _They were at some strip club because what was a better way to celebrate earning money by blowing all of it on lap dances and cheap alcohol? He'd spent most of the time at the bar, mostly focused on getting wasted. So far all he had was a faint buzz._

 _Trevor materialized next to him. "Mikey!" he slurred as he waved his arms in wild, spastic motions, damn near spilling his own Pisswasser on him._

" _Hey, T, what's up?" Michael said, finishing off the watered-down drink. He set the bottle down and ran his thumb along the cool, wet glass, watching the condensation run along his finger._

" _What's up is that you need to be having more fun, you hardass! Even Lester is having a better time than you!" His psychopathic best friend roughly grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him and the barstool around so that he faced the strip club. He looked around the dark, hot club, largely uninterested except for the brunette giving him flirtatious glances. Michael saw a few of the crew, all preoccupied with strippers. True to Trevor's word, Lester was getting a lap dance. That finally made him rethink his decisions._

" _Maybe you're right…" he admitted hesitantly._

" _Of course I am, you chubby prick!" Trevor roared. Michael looked down at himself and frowned, he was a pretty muscular guy, if a bit more brawny than his friend. He didn't notice Trevor talking to the bartender until he held two shots of whiskey in front of him._

" _I thought you hated whiskey," Michael remarked with a confused frown._

" _Oh, it's fucking disgusting…" Trevor said, much to Michael's dismay, "...but these are for you. Maybe you won't be such a stick in the mud when you're drunk."_

" _Ah, fuck it, give 'em to me," he relented, grabbing the drinks. No way would he pass up free alcohol. Besides, if it shut Trevor up, that was good enough. He downed the two glasses of amber liquid in rapid succession. It was good whiskey, surely expensive. All of the alcohol suddenly hit him like a truck and he knew he was well on his way towards his goal of getting wasted._

" _There ya go! Now you're ready to have fun!" Trevor said as he patted Michael on the shoulder._

" _Oh, I'm ready..." Michael stood up uneasily, staggering a couple of steps. He made his way to the stripper who was eyeing him earlier, nearly running into her in the process._

" _Whoa there, big boy…" she said, looking him up and down with an almost predatory glint in her eyes._

 _He stared at her, at a loss for words for once, unusual for the suave thief. "Uhm…" he stammered as he fished money from his wallet._

 _She smirked at him expectantly. "Private dance?"_

 _He nodded eagerly. "Yeah…" he finally managed. Michael followed her to the back room, trying to ignore the bouncer (who looked like he was very good at enforcing the look-but-don't-touch rule) glaring at him._

 _She playfully shoved him down in a chair. "Close your eyes, darling. I'll be right back," she said before disappearing from view._

 _Michael obeyed, shutting his eyes with a small grin. His ears filled with the thumping pop music blasting in the club before the distinctive clicking of heels returned. He hesitantly opened an eye, the other quickly shooting open when he was greeted by the sight of the girl in nothing but red lace underwear._

 _She gave him a Cheshire cat smile. "I never told you to open them... I do like rule-breakers though."_

 _Nothing but stuttering attempts of words came out of his mouth when he opened it. His eyes wandered along her body, from every curve to the soft outline of her collarbone to the dark brown hair framing that pretty face._

" _So…" she started as she began, letting her exposed body undulate into his face, "Cat got your tongue?" He could tell that she was drunk as well by the slight slur of her speech._

 _Michael seemed to have recovered since their awkward meeting. "No, I'm sorry, I just don't run into girls as sexy as you every day…" he said with a smirk as she grinded against him._

" _Charming…" she chuckled as she continued. Her client squirmed in his seat as he watched, glancing around the corner for the bouncer._

 _She noticed quickly, a smirk crossing her face. "Relax, pretty boy. They don't give a shit if you get a bit handsy."_

 _Michael didn't quite believe that judging by the look of the guy he saw earlier. His hands caressed every inch of her, wandering along the contours of her body. It felt exhilarating, like nothing he had ever experienced before. They stayed like that for a while until she stopped and turned around to glance at the clock. "I'm sorry, babe. I'm afraid our time is almost up…" She turned to face him and raised her eyebrows when she saw him with a fifty held between his teeth._

" _I got time," he said simply._

* * *

 _Fire coursed through his veins and it wasn't just because of the amount of alcohol he consumed. The raging inferno burned on as he made out with the brunette, the taste of alcohol present as their tongues danced to an undiscovered tune. The erratic thumping of the music from inside the club only fueled the blaze. They were outside, with her pinned to the wall by him. He had gone outside for a cigarette...she came out and asked him for a light...and now they were here._

 _One of his hands was entangled in her soft dark curls, the other holding her waist steady. "Name?" Michael grunted as he pressed her harder against the wall. He could feel her hesitation as he ran his lips along her jaw. She tasted of sex, sweat, and some kind of flowery perfume he couldn't identify. It felt far more intoxicating than the three- or maybe four? - more shots he had throughout the night, not counting the beers before that. "Your real one? I can't keep calling you 'that smoking hot stripper' all night."_

 _Her nails dug into the leather of his jacket. "It has its appeal…" she gasped out as he started to kiss her neck. He felt her tension melt away slightly as she whispered, "Amanda," in his ear. A shiver ran down his spine (he tried his hardest to convince himself that it was from the cold) and he distracted himself with softly nibbling at a spot on the side of her neck._

" _I'm Michael," he said as he pulled away slightly, his breath coming out in quick puffs, visible in the frigid air. The dull light of the alley casted shadows along her face, making her features a little sharper, cheekbones a bit higher. Her startling, seemingly endless blue eyes, brighter than his own, threatened to drown him. "Hm, it suits you…" he muttered._

" _And how so, Michael?" she whispered softly, seductively, her lips ghosting over his stubbled jaw._

" _Beautiful…" he murmured._

 _Amanda pulled back with a teasing smirk on her face and he was unsure if her cheeks were red from his comments or from the cold. "Where'd you steal that from?"_

 _He just chuckled and leaned down, meeting her lips in a deep, intense kiss. They occasionally broke apart for air, even then only stopping for a few seconds. He groaned slightly as he felt her start to grind against him. Michael roughly pulled her closer, his fingers gripping the fabric of her shirt. His hands started wandering up and down her body, finally coming to rest on her hips. "Fuck…this is nice," he admitted in a low voice._

" _Yeah…" she breathed out, a thoughtful look on her face. "Listen, my break's about up but my shift is almost over and I was wondering...do you wanna take me home?"_

 _Michael's eyes widened. "Yeah, sure...I mean, of course," he stuttered and wondered once again what it was about her that made him so speechless._

 _She laughed, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. "I'll see you soon."_

* * *

A smile tugged at the corners of Michael's lips. It had been a _really_ long time since he felt that good. Even though he'd been wasted, he felt an undeniable spark, a fire between them. It felt way too large for him to ignore. He scoffed slightly at how corny he sounded. _Maybe I really do watch too many movies…_

With a sigh, he reluctantly got from underneath the covers as quietly as possible, figuring that he should at least get dressed before he made any more decisions. The thief winced at the cold and hastily looked around for his clothes. He had just slipped his boxers on before he heard her stir.

"Fuck…" Amanda immediately muttered, the curse muffled by her pillow. The brunette sat up, yawning as she brushed the hair away from her face. Her eyes widened slightly as she saw him but soon relaxed, the memories of last night certainly coming back to her. "Ugh, hey...your name's Michael...isn't it?"

"Yeah…" he replied awkwardly, slipping his jeans on. "It's Amanda, right?"

"I'm surprised you remembered," she said, the faintest hint of a smile on her face. "You were _really_ drunk last night...so was I, but...most guys don't even bother asking."

"How could I forget?" he asked teasingly as he put his belt on. Frowning, he looked around for his shirt. "Uh...have you seen…?"

"Oh, yeah, here," she leaned over the side of the bed and tossed him his t-shirt. Her blue eyes studied him cautiously as he got dressed. Admittedly, she was liking what she was seeing. A smirk formed on his face when he noticed her staring at him, biting her lip slightly with an unsure look on her face.

A blush crept up her cheeks. "Do you want some coffee?" Amanda asked, clearly trying to change the subject.

"That'd be great, uh, thanks," he said as he slipped on his jacket.

She got up out of the bed. Always the gentleman, he turned away as she got dressed. About a minute later, he heard her scoff, "It's not like you haven't seen everything already." He opened his mouth to say something, apologize, maybe, but was cut off by her laugh. "I'm just fucking with you."

With a sheepish look, Michael turned around to face her. Despite wearing much more modest clothes than last night, a t-shirt and jeans, he found her just as beautiful. He followed her into the small kitchen. Like him, she also lived in a trailer. It was all she could afford with what she made stripping, he figured.

She seemed to read his mind. "I know it's not that big but…" she started in a defensive tone as she handed him a mug of coffee. He would have wondered how someone so young could look so disappointed in their life already if he didn't already see it every time he looked in a mirror.

"What? Oh, I'm not judging. I've lived in one my whole life, okay?" he defended himself as he took a drink.

"Really?" Amanda said curiously, "Thought you were a billionaire or something with the way you and your friends were throwing money around last night."

"Nah, I got money but I probably blew most of it last night anyways," he noted with a chuckle. "I'm not a businessman or anything, if that's what you're askin'."

"You kinda struck me as the type, though," she said, sipping her coffee.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked in a slight defensive tone.

"All that charm and talk. For a minute, I was a little worried you'd start pitching me products," she leaned against the counter with a smirk.

He laughed, enjoying her company. She wasn't like most other girls he met, she actually seemed to understand him. "Do you, uh, do you remember anything else that happened?"

Her expression turned thoughtful. "Well...your creepy friend found us right before we left and mentioned something about getting laid and that he'd see you tomorrow. Sounded high as a kite, too."

"That's Trevor for you…" he muttered. Suddenly, another part of her explanation clicked in him. Just before they had gone to the strip club, Lester told him and the rest of the crew that he had some work for them to do the next day. He looked up at the clock, seeing that it was nearing noon. "Ah, shit."

"What is it?" she asked.

"I really have to go. Uh, work, y'know." Michael winced. It sounded like a lame excuse, even to him.

Amanda tilted her head slightly with a frown. "I forgot to ask...what _do_ you do?"

 _Shit_ , he thought. In his line of work, he didn't ever date so he never had to deal with the inevitable question of what he did for a living. Even if he did, it was really something he wouldn't reveal. He could lie, he was good at that. Honestly, he should've really just left when he could have, the chance that he'd never see her again was pretty high. But he wasn't sure if he wanted that. "It's...it's complicated."

She raised an eyebrow at that but opted not to comment. "Listen...do you wanna go out sometime?" he asked suddenly. "On an actual date where we won't be drunk and you won't have to take your clothes off in front of me."

"Hmm…" she muttered, and once he again he found himself under her scrutinizing gaze. He didn't mind being studied by those eyes, though. "You _are_ pretty cute, I do like my men with a good amount of muscle...and you actually have all of your teeth, which I really can't say for most guys around here. Last night _was_ pretty fun from what I can remember, plus I'm sure I can get you to tell me what sketchy job you no doubt have. So... fuck it, why not?"

"Great," he said with a smile as she wrote down her number.

She handed him the slip of paper with a grin of her own, "If you lose it, well...you know where to find me."

"Alright, I'll call you later, okay?" he started for the door, still beaming from ear to ear.

"Goodbye, Michael," Amanda called out in a singsong voice. Maybe the Prince Charming she'd been waiting for had finally come for her...

Neither of them could have possibly known how important that decision to go on a date would be or that it would be the start of a relationship that would last for years to come.


	2. Routine

_Thank you all for the positive feedback on the last chapter :D . I'm going to try to update this somewhat regularly (about once a week). Anyways, this story is about Michael breaking some news to his best friend._

Silence hung in the bitter, cold, North Yankton air. Michael could practically feel Trevor's rage, threatening to explode as moments went by. Trevor hadn't exactly taken the news of the engagement well and God only knows what he'd do this time. "She's what?" Trevor finally asked in disbelief.

"She's pregnant," Michael repeated, starting to nervously pace back and forth.

"Weren't you using a condom, dumbass?" Trevor looked like he was about to snap his neck.

"Of course I was but it kind of, uh, broke. Ah...maybe there were a couple times I _didn't_ …but look, Trevor, I would have proposed to her anyway, she's one of the only people that puts up with my crazy shit. I can't have my kid grow up without a dad because I'm dead in the vault of a bank or rotting in a jail cell. I can't do that to Amanda either," Michael said insistently.

"So... what?" Trevor growled, his voice, as well as his anger, starting to rise. "Are you just going to give up everything you have here to move into some suburban house with a picket fence and a dog in the backyard to live out one of your movie fantasies?"

"I don't know! Maybe! I want to be the dad mine never was," Michael said, starting to get annoyed. Trevor was taking this harder than he was, as if he was the one who had a lot more to lose now.

"Are you _sure_ the baby is even _yours_?" Trevor asked in a snarky tone.

Michael's eyes narrowed. "What the hell are you implying?"

"I'm just saying I've heard she does some work on the side," Trevor said casually.

"Yeah, well, you aren't wrong. I let her do it because in case you hadn't noticed, we ain't the richest couple around," Michael sighed.

"The pimp and the prostitute, how romantic!" Trevor mocked. "You better be careful then, M! One day, it won't just be for the money, and you know that."

Michael's fists curled at his sides, aching for something, or someone, to punch. "You don't talk about her like that," he warned hotly, his jaw clenching.

"Looks like pretty boy can't handle the truth, huh?" Trevor asked mockingly.

Having had enough of Trevor's criticism, Michael silenced him with a punch to the face. "I warned you," he snapped, standing over his friend. The next thing that Michael knew, Trevor had tackled him to the snowy ground, landing a few blows on him.

"I _knew_ I'd have to slap some sense into you," Trevor snarled as he beat him.

Finally, Michael gained the upper hand, continuing to hit his friend. No way would he let him talk about his future wife like that.

" _You_ ," he growled, punching him with every word, "should've...kept your...fucking mouth...shut." That was when the rest of the crew finally noticed and pulled him off Trevor, muttering about how there wasn't a day they didn't fight. "Screw you, Trevor," Michael said as he shrugged them off before angrily storming through the piercing cold to go home. At least the bar they'd gone to wasn't too far from his place.

He groaned slightly as he felt blood starting to run down his cheek. His eye was already starting to swell shut, too. Fuck. _Leave it to Trevor's big mouth to kill the mood after a successful job,_ he thought bitterly as he wiped off some blood off with his sleeve. He knew that Trevor would get over it soon enough though, he always loved a good fight. It certainly wasn't the first- probably not the last time either- that him and his psychopathic best friend had come to blows. All he needed to worry about was how to do damage control with Amanda. He knew she was already pretty stressed out with the wedding coming up and the baby and him coming home beaten up wouldn't help. He reached his trailer, sighing slightly before he opened the door.

"Honey, I'm home," Michael announced weakly, shutting the door behind him.

"About time," he heard her mutter, though her tone was relieved. A sharp pang of guilt ran through him. She always waited for him to return after a job, despite his claims that he could take care of himself. With a labored sigh, he leaned against the door. He briefly shut his eyes, trying to chase away the throbbing headache forming and dreading the hangover he'd have in the morning. When Michael opened his eyes, he could tell that Amanda was about to begin the rant she used whenever he was out late after a job without calling her.

Instead of lecturing Michael, she just sighed. Her reckless fiancé had gotten himself into another fight. His handsome face was marred by the dark bruises dotting his cheeks and stubbled jawline, along with a black eye. The right side of his face was covered in blood from a cut that ran across his cheek. His fists were bruised and bloodied from more wounds than she could count. He was absolutely beaten to a pulp yet he gave her a crooked smirk as he leaned against the door. "What happened now?" Amanda asked, the concern in her voice evident.

"Jus' a fight," Michael said, his speech slurred either from the alcohol he'd no doubt had, or from the split lip she hadn't noticed before. Amanda watched as he turned on the sink, the water turning pink as it ran over his swollen and bloody knuckles.

"Over what?" she pressed, joining him by the sink. She waited until he was done before dampening a towel under the water and grabbing the first aid kit. Gently, she took his wrist, being careful to avoid his wounds, and led him over to a chair.

"Stupid shit…" Michael growled, plopping down on the chair and grimacing at the sudden movement. He shrugged off his bloodstained jacket. His shirt rode up slightly at the movement, revealing the black and blue marks dominating his stomach.

"That's what you always say," she forced a weak smile as she pretended not to notice and handed him an ice pack.

He held it to his slightly swollen eye, sighing in relief as the cool ice made contact with his skin. As he stared at her, he noticed the sadness she held in her pale blue eyes. "Fuck...I'm sorry, Amanda…" Michael muttered in a regretful tone.

"For...?" she asked distractedly, focused on cleaning off the smears of blood on his lips.

"I keep puttin' you through this shit," he sighed again, "I know you worry sick and that _this_ is the last thing you want to be doing at three in the fuckin' morning. I'm such an ass-"

She interrupted him with a tender kiss and he forgot about the pain in his lip for a brief moment as he kissed her back with all of the passion his aching body could muster. His hands, still pulsating in pain, entangled themselves in her hair. Pleasure and pain; the only two sensations he thought could feel. Somehow, it wasn't so bad. Eventually, she pulled away, a cute little frown on her face. "Don't say that," she said softly, cupping his bruised cheeks lovingly in her hands. "It's not your fault, okay? Yes, I worry...so much… but I'm not mad or disappointed, or _anything_. It's pretty much routine for me now, anyways."

"I wish it didn't have to be," Michael sighed, wincing a bit from the pain.

Her eyes became downcast, hoping he wouldn't notice the tears starting to form in them. "It's not your fault," she repeated quietly, bandaging his cheek.

Michael thought about that. Did she mean that it wasn't his fault that his anger got him into a lot of fights or that it wasn't his fault that he turned out to be such a fuck up? He zoned out for a while, drowning in self-pity as Amanda treated his wounds.

Amanda's voice interrupted his train of thoughts. "So how'd it go? And please don't sugarcoat it because it's what you think I want to hear."

"It went fine. Perfect, really. But after…" Michael trailed off, gesturing to his bruised visage.

"Yeah, you really do look like hell, babe," she leaned down, inspecting his beaten appearance once more.

"You should see the other guy," he replied, a smirk crossing his face. He moved forward so that their foreheads were touching. "Tell me something…" he muttered in a low voice.

She decided to play along, hoping that he'd try to lighten the mood. "What?" she responded with a smirk of her own.

"Am I...am I still gonna look pretty after this?" his words dripped with overly concerned sarcasm. He gazed up at her innocently, waiting for her reaction.

"Hmm…" she squinted her eyes and took his chin in her free hand, dramatically turning his face the side as she examined it. Finally, she stood back up to her full height with a triumphant grin. "Thankfully, I think you're gonna be just fine."

He let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "Thank fuck for that...I dunno what I'd do without my ruggedly good looks…" he admitted in a relieved tone, earning a genuine laugh from her.

Michael watched Amanda as she cleaned him up. It was still hard to believe that they were getting married soon. He would have never thought he'd ever be in a serious relationship with his lifestyle, much less be in love with someone who loved him right back but here he was, engaged. A small smile formed on his face as he wondered how beautiful girls like her fell for idiotic guys like him.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked him teasingly.

"About how much I love you," he replied looking up at her _. Cheesy as always_ , she thought. "What are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking…" she trailed off slightly with a smile of her own, "...that I should have become a nurse if I knew I'd be doing this often."

"Aw, there's still time, babe," Michael said jokingly. "I think you'd look hot in a nurse uniform."

"Nice try," Amanda rolled her eyes playfully as she finished cleaning him up. "Okay, I think that's about it," she said before deciding to try her luck one last time. Of course it wasn't the first fight he'd gotten into in the time they'd been together but something felt off about this one. Usually, he would jump at the opportunity to rant about the trouble he'd gotten into and needed her to calm him down. Not reserved and apologetic like he was now. "You sure you don't want to tell me what happened?"

"Nah, it was stupid. Really," Michael replied. Every time he put her through this, he felt like the biggest asshole. Time after time, she had put up with it. And he hated it. He hated how she had to pay the price for his idiotic mistakes. He really didn't want to tell her what had happened, though he was sure Trevor would probably tell her anyways. His eyes rolled slightly at the thought of his friend.

"Please?" her voice grew soft, serious, eyes staring right through him. It was for him to open up to other people, it frustrated the hell out of her, in fact, so she placed a hand on his arm reassuringly, fingers stroking across the toned muscles. "You can't keep pushing me away like this."

"Damn it, Mandy. You know I can't resist those eyes," he growled in defeat. "Look, some asshole was talking shit about us and it set me off. Like I said, I was being dumb."

She nodded, knowing him well enough to know that it wasn't just "some asshole" but the tone of his voice told her he still was done talking about it. "Alright, tough guy. You should get some sleep, I'll be in there in a bit," she replied. Fingers ran through his matted black hair, her lips gently pressing a kiss to his forehead

"Goodnight, sweetheart," Michael said softly as he stood up, ignoring the pain that shot through his veins, his strong arms encasing her in a hug. He nuzzled her soft, dark hair, basking in the moment. "I love you."

Amanda buried her head into her future husband's chest and held him tightly. He smelled of blood, sweat, and smoke but she didn't care. Beaten and battered as he was, she was just glad that he was safe and would be able to stay home for a while. Her voice shook slightly as she whispered, "Love you too, darlin'."


	3. Separation Anxiety

_Back at it again with a new chapter. Again, thank you so much for the positive feedback! I have a lot of ideas for upcoming chapters, this one focuses on Michael and Amanda while they were separated (apologies if the ending seems a bit rushed on this one.)_

* * *

"Ahhh!" Michael slurred as he was shocked awake from yet another nightmare. Blindly, he wildly waved the gun in his hand around his empty bedroom before coming to his senses, realizing that whatever danger he'd been in wasn't real. "Oh, fuck," he whispered, dropping the gun onto the sweat dampened sheets like it was a hot iron scalding his skin with each passing second. With a labored sigh, he sat up and put his head in his hands, nearly knocking over the glass half filled with whiskey next to him over. He immediately picked it up and downed the remainder of the golden liquid, figuring that getting at least a little bit drunk would help ease the pain of the bad dream.

It had been a while since he'd had nightmares as bad and frequent as these. Most of the time he felt comforted in the presence of his wife, no matter how distant they'd become, but she was gone. They were all gone. His hold on the glass tightened, knuckles going white with the force. _You brought this on yourself, didn't you?_ _You were a depressed asshole so they moved out_ , a voice inside his head coldly reminded him. The glass finally shattered, no match for his destructive hand. A hand that only knew how to hurt, how to kill. So useless now that he looked back on it. "God _damn_ it," he muttered as a sharp pain hit him. Eerily fascinated, he watched the blood from the numerous cuts in his hand drip onto the floor along with the broken glass, whatever wasn't embedded in his skin, that is. Michael stood up uneasily, the shards crunching beneath his shoes. Whatever. He'd get rid of it later. It wasn't like he had anyone to clean up for, anyways.

Cursing, he stumbled through the closet and into his bathroom, barely having enough energy to raise his head to look in the mirror. Remnants of his torture he'd barely escaped from alive a few days ago still remained. His face had been relatively unscathed, save for the fading black eye and bruises dotting his jawline. The dark stubble on his jaw was a sharp contrast to his ghostly white pallor and he looked almost gaunt, probably a side effect of consuming almost nothing but alcohol the past couple days. It had turned out the physical wounds were the ones that were the easiest to heal.

He still thought of the way the knife cut through his skin, how he watched the blood run down his body, how he could practically hear how his ribs crunched as a baseball bat smashed them even now. He remembered how his insistent pleas of how they had the wrong guy were met with a punch to the jaw. At first, he didn't care, he had nothing left to live for anyways. That he deserved all the bruises, all the scars. That he deserved to die. But as he'd been hanging there from a meat hook, staring at the machine where he would have meet his end, he realized how much he wanted to live, or rather how much he wanted to live a better life.

"This is gonna hurt like hell…" he said under his breath, only partly referring to the fragments lodged in his palm. Reluctantly, he started pulling them out with his free hand, grimacing in pain. Many tiny shards later and one large, agonizingly deep one, he was done. Michael carefully flexed his injured hand, examining the damage before he turned the sink on, which had become stained red with his blood. He ran a hand under it, the water turning pink as it ran over the cuts.

Finally, he wrapped a bandage around it, barely sparing enough time to pop a couple of painkillers before staggering back into the bedroom. Michael kicked off his shoes before starting to take off his bloodstained suit. _Well, one of them, anyway,_ he noted with a bitter chuckle. Stripped down to his boxers, he slipped beneath the sheets, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling lifelessly. Maybe he could get a couple hours of sleep before the sun inevitably rose in a few hours. In a few hours, he'd get up, drink some more to dull the depression, and probably receive a call from some higher being wanting him to do their illegal bidding. But he was fed up with it, tired of it all. Tired of drinking until he passed out on the couch every single day, tired of doing the FIB's dirty work, tired of being alone.

A glint of light off of his hand caught his eye. His wedding ring. He couldn't bring himself to take the damn thing off, even though there had been plenty of times he hadn't worn it while they were still together. Part of the reason was his out of his own stubbornness. If he actually did, he knew that he would have finally given up, that he'd let her win this twisted game they had played for so long. The other part was that he still did love her, no matter how horribly he showed it. No, he wouldn't take it off...not yet. At least not until the divorce papers showed up.

He laid on his side, staring at the spot where Amanda would be. _Should_ be. Those two regretful words filled his mind: _what if?_ What if he had apologized to her on the day she left instead of giving her more incentive to abandon him? He figured some of the anger would drain from her but she'd give him a sad little smile, those blue eyes staring straight through his, and tell him that it was a bit too late for that.

With a sigh, his gaze shifted upwards to the message on the mirror she'd written to him with her red lipstick. _Fuck you very much,_ it practically screamed at him. As much as he wanted to blame her for having the affairs and leaving him, he knew that most of the reason she did was to get payback for him cheating on her and maybe to get his attention. He winced as he thought back to an argument they'd had on the phone after he'd caught her with that tennis coach.

" _Is he dead?" she asked angrily._

" _I didn't kill him...but I shoulda," was his cool response._

" _Well, he isn't answering his cell and he didn't show at the tennis club."_

 _He almost laughed despite the circumstances. "Hm, must have skipped town. As he shoulda."_

" _Next time, I'll run your street skank outta LS," she snarled._

" _If I bring one to the house and ask you to pay, you're more than welcome," he replied before hanging up on her._

He'd really screwed that up, hadn't he? Michael shut his eyes and let out a remorseful sigh. He briefly wondered how his wife and kids were doing. A small part of him hoped they felt the same way, maybe he wouldn't feel so helpless. "Ah, who am I kidding?" he mumbled into his pillow. They were probably off living the good life with that fucking yogi. Without him. With a low growl, he turned over to the other side of the bed and grabbed his phone off of the nightstand. He pulled up the contacts list, staring at Amanda's picture. His finger hesitated over the call button. She had to be asleep, it was almost three in the morning. Even if she wasn't, what would make this call any different from the many others that she had ignored?

"Fuck...I miss you," he sighed as he took one last longing look at the picture before he tossed the phone back on the nightstand and closed his eyes. Maybe one day he'd have enough confidence to go face her and try to fix their relationship.

* * *

 _I fucked up._

Those were the only three words that Amanda's addled mind could form. It was only now that she was realizing this, two months after leaving her husband and having sex with Fabien, who had rolled over and fallen asleep without another word. _Making love_ , she almost scoffed at how ridiculous that sounded. In the end, she hadn't felt satisfied. She only felt like a trophy, a prize he had won. In a way, she knew she was. The fact that the yoga instructor was a complete prick didn't help anything either. She swore if she had to hear one more thing about how 'impacted' she was or even think about the word 'namaste' again, she'd scream.

 _Me and my stupid pride,_ she thought numbly, pulling the sheets up to her chest. That had always been a problem for both her and Michael, especially in the last few years. Especially when she'd caught him cheating on her and he'd acted as if he'd done nothing wrong...or when she had almost convinced herself that she hated him for everything he'd done to her, having some sick sense of satisfaction when he'd caught her in her own affairs.

 _Maybe he'll notice me again, maybe he'll love me again_ , had been her desperate mantra at the time. "So stupid…" Amanda muttered under her breath. In the end, he had only been more furious with her, focusing on how it had affected him without trying to see how she felt. The day she had left, she'd searched his eyes for any trace of the man he'd once been, maybe to find regret or longing, _anything_ to convince her that he still cared about her, about their family. All she'd seen in those cold blue eyes was heartbreaking anger.

She thought of the bitter, depressing man who always found a way to put her down and tried to reassure herself that she'd made the right decision, that he hadn't wanted her for a long time. But then she remembered the charming boy she fell in love with, who spouted off cheesy movie lines to flirt with her and radiated a confidence that had drawn her in like a magnet. She thought of herself, a girl who'd been so hopelessly in love with her handsome husband, who now had eyes for about everyone but him. It was times like these where she wondered if they could ever be those people again. It was times like these that made her want to _try_.

One question still lingered in the back of her mind: _how did this happen to us?_ They used to be happy! Or at least, they were until one day he woke up and acted as if he wanted nothing to do with her and the kids. She knew it had something to do with him missing his old life. It had always confused her why, but deep down, they both knew that he needed the thrill of the danger that risky job offered.

Bitterness filled her as the realization that he chose that...that _path_ of death and destruction over her set in. She had to have been better than that, right? As she sulked there, she was reminded of all her failures as a wife. Her crazy obsession with payback, the lies she'd told him so effortlessly, all of the arguments, the cheating…

Amanda shut her eyes with a frustrated growl, feeling tears starting to spring up in them. Maybe she hadn't given him much choice after all. She turned over and grabbed her phone from the nightstand, staring at all the missed calls and texts from Michael. Oh, he'd been angry at first but then the texts had gotten concerned, apologetic even. He begged for just one more chance, told her that he'd changed and how he had a real job now. She'd listened to all of his voicemails in her way to assure herself that he was alive, if not exactly well, even calling Franklin to make sure he was okay because she was too scared to do it herself.

 _She sighed. "Look, I know that you and my husband and Trevor Philips...I don't know what the fuck you're up to but I can make a pretty good guess. There's some weird things going on. Is he okay?"_

" _I don't think okay is the right word, but he's alive. You should call him. He'll appreciate that."_

" _I don't want to speak to him," she lied. "I just wanted to know he wasn't dead somewhere. Thanks. Don't tell him I called."_

" _Alright. But look, he ain't doing too good without his family," Franklin said_

" _I know…" she muttered once she ended the call._

How many times had she stared at her phone, wondering if she should call him back? It took everything in her not to. By now he probably thought she hated him too much and moved on, which was the opposite of the truth. Pride was part of it, she guessed. A part of her had wanted him to chase after her when she had left, but he was never the type of guy who'd come begging to her on his knees and he knew that she wasn't the girl who'd jump into his arms and say how sorry she really was. Most of all, she knew if he picked up, she might not want to say goodbye ever again.

"Shit...I still love him…" she said under her breath. It wasn't as if she already didn't think that but now she _knew_ despite her lingering resentment for how much he'd hurt her. All of her complaints of wanting a divorce had been just empty threats, those times where she told him she didn't love him were lies.

With her lower lip held hesitantly between her teeth, she opened her husband's Lifeinvader page, wincing as she read all of the terrible things she said about him. Not only had she made an ass of herself, but then she did it where anyone could see it. " _Just let me know you're okay?_ " she typed out, finger pausing over the send button. There was so much more she wanted to say to him, like how much she wanted to come home and how she really did love him. "Baby steps…" she reassured herself as she sent it.

Amanda put the phone back, hands shaking slightly as she did. _God, that was pathetic_ , she reflected. It wasn't enough that she couldn't even talk to him directly, no, she did it on a website he rarely, if at all, checked. She wiped away the tears trailing down her cheeks before squeezing her eyes shut.

 _I'm sorry, darling,_ was her last hazy thought before she fell asleep dreaming of better times.


	4. Homecoming

_This is my first fic on the smutty side, so sorry if it's kinda cheesy. Anyways, this chapter is set after Reuniting the Family._

* * *

"Kids, rooms. If you find dead bodies, cheap women, or Trevor Philips…we're checking into the Rockford Hills Hotel." Amanda's laughter from when Michael rolled his eyes was cut short when she saw the state that their house was in. Michael must have dismissed the maid because the place was a mess. Her husband had never been the neatest person she'd ever known but this was the worse it'd ever been. It looked like a tornado had ran through the house, with fast food bags and empty beer bottles scattered carelessly throughout the kitchen and living room.

She managed to close her mouth, which had fallen open in shock. "Jesus, Michael…" Amanda finally said in disbelief.

Michael's eyes shifted to floor as he started walking towards the kitchen. "Yeah, I, uh… I didn't have much time for housekeeping." That time had been dedicated to robbing banks, escaping gunfights, and drinking until he passed out after said gunfights.

Amanda followed him into the kitchen, biting her lip slightly. While she was filled with excitement to be back with Michael, there was also the feeling of being unsure of where their relationship stood.

Michael seemed to be completely aware of the tension and nervousness that hung between them as he leaned against the counter, smiling uncomfortably. "So…" he started, breaking the silence that had seemed to last for several minutes.

"So…" she echoed, staring at the counter top.

"How was your, ah, boy toy, after what happened earlier?" Michael asked with a smirk on his face, obviously satisfied at how things went.

"He'll live," she replied with a smirk of her own, glad that asshole got what was coming to him. They lapsed into silence again as she began to wonder what she saw in the yoga instructor in the first place.

"I know it got a bit heated back at the therapist's," Michael admitted, his bitter chuckle bringing an end to the quietness. "You have to know, those things I said, a lot of them weren't true. I mean, I could never...kill you."

"Michael, I've never been scared of that," Amanda said honestly. The thought had never crossed her mind, not even in the middle of their worst fights, where his face was bright red and they were yelling at each other at the top of their lungs. "I didn't mean some of the things I said either, but didn't it feel good to get all of that out?"

"Yeah...it really did." Michael finally met her gaze, his eyes seemingly staring straight through her soul. Her mouth went slightly dry when she suddenly remembered how gorgeous his piercing blue eyes were. At how gorgeous _he_ was. She couldn't help but let her eyes wander along the rest of his body.

From those beautiful eyes to the light wrinkles on his forehead and the stubble framing his strong jawline. She tried to resist the strong urge to bury her fingers in his dark hair, to tease the few grey strands between her fingertips, or to kiss his soft lips like she'd done so many times throughout the years. To her, it was an understatement to say he'd aged well. When most people got older, you could tell that their glory days were far behind them, that there were no remnants of the beautiful person they'd once been. It had always been one of her biggest fears, in fact, but her husband was an exception. If anything, he had seemed to have gotten more attractive in the time that they'd been apart. God, he even looked thinner...

Her gaze slid down to his hands, which were nervously tapping against the counter. She smiled slightly. He always had such strong, deft hands that could hold her just as easily as a gun. Regret hit her like a truck as her eyes landed on his fingers. He was still wearing his wedding ring. It would have almost been better if he'd simply took it off, but despite the problems and fights they'd had, he kept it on. She'd left her own at the house before she left. It had only served as an unnecessary reminder for all of her mistakes. Sighing sadly, she looked back up at him.

Her jaw dropped slightly when he slowly took off his suit jacket and rolled the sleeves of his white button-up to his elbows. Her breath caught in her throat as she noticed his hard, muscular, forearms and the scars on them from previous fights. By the smirk on his face, he knew exactly what he was doing. "Kinda hot in here isn't it?" he remarked with a cocky smile.

She held her tongue, wanting to say that wasn't the only thing that was hot. "So, how are we going to get rid of this mess?" she tried to change to subject, looking around the house.

"Well, I have no clue where the maid is, so I guess we better go about fixing this ourselves," he answered, dragging the garbage can out to the living room.

They started cleaning up the room. Amanda raised one of her eyebrows when she saw Michael's hands behind his back and the sheepish look on his face. "What do you have there?" she asked innocently, walking towards him.

"Me? Shit, nothing," he replied hastily, his face flushing a little with embarrassment. "Ugh, fine," he surrendered, handing her the book he'd tried to hide.

" _Chains of Intimacy_?" Amanda slowly read the title out loud before she realized what he'd been reading. "Michael! This book is filled with porn!"

"Hey, I was lonely!" Michael held his hands up, mildly trying to defend himself.

"Oh, well…guess where this is going?" she asked teasingly, not giving him a chance to answer before promptly dropping it into the trash. "Speaking of that, I thought the first thing we'd do when we got back together would be a bit more sexy than this," she said, her nose scrunched up slightly as she threw away another empty beer can.

Michael flashed her his trademark smirk, which made her knees go a bit weak. "Ah, well, we still have our second thing," he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

It wasn't until they had finished that Michael asked the question she'd been dreading ever since they got home. "So, why'd you do it?" he said softly, his head down.

"Do what?" she wondered, even though she was sure she knew what he was talking about.

"You know what I'm talking about," Michael looked up at her with such sadness and confusion in his eyes, a look she rarely saw, no hint of malice or sarcasm marking his words for once.

Amanda sighed, trying to come up with a good explanation herself. "I...I fucked up, Michael. I never hated you or wanted to get divorced...I just wanted the man I married back. You were ignoring me and the kids, drinking until you passed out every night. And when I found you with that stripper, it...broke me. I thought maybe if I showed you how much it hurt, you'd notice me again. But then…" she took a deep breath, trying to blink away the tears that had started to form. "Then you got back into your old life and our fighting got worse. I thought you'd never change...so I left."

"I'm...uh, I'm...really sorry, Amanda. I never wanted any of this to happen. You and the kids didn't deserve all of that," Michael started to pace around the living room. "I pushed you away, and tried to deal with everything alone. No excuses, I'm an asshole. I know it's a bit too late but...that stripper didn't mean anything...I was just being a drunk dumbass. I just want to put this in the past and start fresh, y'know?" He stopped only inches from her, his eyes filled with a longing and desire that she'd been trying to get from him for years.

"Me too…" Amanda breathed out, her bright blue eyes locked on his lips.

The two stared at each other, wondering who would make the first move. Finally, he leaned in and kissed her lightly, almost hesitantly. _You can do better than that,_ she thought as she ran a hand through his soft black hair, the other cupping his jaw lovingly as she deepened the kiss. The only way to describe it was desperate. Desperate to forget all of the bad memories, desperate to repair their relationship, desperate to love each other like they once did.

They only pulled apart for air, both unable to stop smiling. "I missed you so much, Amanda…" he whispered, her gentle touch shooting a warmth through him that was a thousand times more powerful than a shot of his favorite whiskey.

"I missed you too, Michael...this you," she said softly, referring to the charming, affectionate man she fell in love with. His face was framed between her hands, his skin warm and smooth except for the coarse stubble forming on his jaw.

They looked into each other's eyes for a moment that lasted way too long before their lips met again. This time, Amanda made the first move. She grabbed the collar of Michael's shirt, pulling him closer to her, never wanting to let go of him again. Michael matched her intensity, his hands starting to roam her body. They kissed with an unrivaled passion, with even more desire than when they first got married.

She didn't even notice she'd started unbuttoning his shirt until he pulled away slightly, chuckling. "You know the bedroom is still pretty messy," Michael said with a wink as his hands came to a rest on her waist.

"Yeah, uh...we should go take care of that," Amanda replied, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before walking over to the stairs.

They all but ran up the stairs, stealing kisses along the way. The couple came to an abrupt stop at the top of the stairs when they saw their daughter standing in her doorway, staring at them.

"Umm...what are you two doing?" Tracey asked them suspiciously. She raised an eyebrow when she noticed her parent's slightly red faces and her father's half unbuttoned shirt.

Amanda elbowed Michael in his side, silently forcing him to respond. "Ow!" he said with an annoyed glare at his wife, before his expression turned embarrassed again. "There's...uh, something I left... in the bedroom?" he tried to lie unconvincingly.

"Right…I don't know if I should be really happy for you or _really_ grossed out. Thank God I was just gonna leave anyways," Tracey grabbed her car keys before walking past them with a knowing smirk on her face.

"Have...fun...I guess?" she called back before exiting the house, the door making a loud thud as it shut behind her.

Michael and Amanda were still standing there awkwardly. They stared at the empty doorway, then each other for a moment before bursting into laughter. Michael was still chuckling as he grabbed her hand and led her into the bedroom.

Amanda barely had time to shut the door behind her before Michael picked her up and pinned her against it, his soft lips moving gently against hers. She wrapped her legs around his waist, kissing him through every movement. One of her hands moved to clumsily lock the door, the other arm wrapped around Michael's neck.

Michael dragged his lips down to her jaw, pausing briefly to nibble on the space below her ear, a spot that he knew drove her wild, then finally onto her neck. She quickly finished undoing the buttons on his shirt, moaning slightly as the kisses continued on her neck. Amanda's eyebrows shot up as she took off his shirt, seeing that abs had started to form on his stomach.

"How'd you get these?" she whispered in a seductive tone, running a hand over the muscles.

Michael looked down, a slightly surprised look on his face as if he had just noticed for the first time. "Ohhh...I guess that's what happens when you're running for your life from the cops every other day," he said with a slight grin, not giving her time to respond before he pulled her own shirt over her head.

They'd been separated for far too long, he thought. Not just in the time she'd been gone, but also the years they had wasted thinking that they hated one another, while they were really desperate to love each other again.

Those thoughts were put aside as they fell backwards onto the bed. Michael pulled back slightly, his dark blue eyes boring into his wife's while his hands absentmindedly caressed her body. She always had eyes that he felt as if he could drown in. Right now, he was suffocating as he noticed that they were shining with lust and desire. An involuntary shiver ran down his spine, shaking his whole body. She gazed up at him with a knowing smirk, glad that she could still get a reaction like that out of him.

His breath hitched and he pressed his lips against Amanda's to muffle the sound, his tongue rediscovering her mouth, before shifting his kisses back to her neck. His lips glided over the soft skin, nipping where he felt her pulse thumping beneath him, earning a groan from her. She was surprised at how much passion he had, not that she was complaining. Amanda's hands slid up to his face, fingers gently stroking his cheeks. Still, they went further, going up the back of his head and burying them in his hair as she faintly whimpered in delight, loving the feeling of his lips on her bare skin.

Michael smirked at her response as he kissed her collarbone. His lips moved along her body, never staying in one place for long, until he reached the waistband of her jeans. His gaze shifted upwards, eyes boring directly into hers as he began to slowly, almost tortuously in her opinion, unbutton them. "You're such a tease," she complained, her breathing reduced to sharp gasps.

"...and you love it," he finished her thoughts with a low chuckle as he pulled the zipper down and tugged them from her legs. He tossed them to the floor and leaned down as she pulled him closer. They kissed passionately, a fire in them that they thought was long gone reignited and stronger than ever setting their nerves alight, before they broke apart slightly, both breathing heavily as she undid his belt and started to push his pants off his hips. Michael hurriedly kicked his pants behind him before leaning back down to kiss her.

* * *

They kissed like there was no tomorrow, unable to keep their hands off each other. He explored every inch of her body, memorizing every detail. Each scar - both old and new - she rediscovered made her more determined to please him. Pleasure raced through their veins like a drug, ecstatic at another chance to spend the rest of their lives together and put all of the horrible memories that plagued them the last few years where they belonged - in the past.

* * *

Michael collapsed on the bed beside Amanda, wrapping his strong arms around her, both of them trying to catch their breath.

"Do...do you think we did that...too soon?" she asked, panting as she pulled the sheets up to their chests.

He just shook his head, kissing her cheek lightly. "Think of it as making up for lost time," he whispered in her ear.

They laid tangled together beneath the blankets, silent for a few moments until Amanda suddenly muttered, "I'm so sorry."

"For what?" he asked distractedly, brushing a few strands of sweat soaked brown hair from her forehead.

"For...everything," she said softly, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Don't be. It's over...we're together now," Michael held her closer as if to prove his point. "I'm almost done with my old life for good. After that, we're gonna fix this and do it right this time."

"I'd like that. I love you, Michael…" she murmured tiredly and she can't remember the last time she said it without being sarcastic so she decided to make him know, "...so much. I know I don't act like it but I do...I always have."

"I love you too, Mandy...more than you know. I never stopped either," Michael managed to breathe out, feeling himself start to doze off too.

She smiled and cuddled closer to him, holding him tightly as she drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face.

Michael had never been one to fall asleep quickly, but he was surprised to find himself hit with overwhelming exhaustion. With a weary smile, he stroked Amanda's hair as she slept, admiring his wife's beauty for the first time in a while. As he started to drift into unconsciousness, he finally knew what his purpose was: to be a good father and husband. Just a few hours ago, he thought he had no future, that he'd be dead soon anyways. Now, with his wife peacefully asleep beside him, he figured that maybe, just maybe, he'd get the happy ending that he came to Los Santos ten years ago for.


	5. Scars

_Happy holidays! I hopefully will have a chapter for Christmas if I can get it done in time, no promises though. If that doesn't happen, here is another chapter that digs into Michael's dark past and unsure future._

* * *

Michael couldn't sleep. He'd tossed and turned with no success, eventually giving up to stare up at the dark ceiling. Even if he had fallen asleep, he was sure the nightmares would find him, as they always did. The longer he laid there and thought about his life, the more nervous he got for his future. What did he know about raising a kid? The only things he knew were how to run from cops, shoot guns, and avoid being shot in the face. It wasn't that he wasn't excited to have a kid, he'd been ecstatic to hear the news, but it was hard enough having to skip town constantly with Amanda, and he that knew doing it with a screaming baby would be near impossible.

Deep down, he knew another reason he was nervous was that he was afraid that his kid's childhood would be worse than his and Amanda's. The memories he'd tried so hard to block out revolved around one person. His father. An abusive alcoholic, the sadistic man made Michael's life a living hell from the day he was born until he abandoned him and his mom when he was a teenager. He never knew what happened to his father, he'd been told so many stories he lost count. Some say he skipped town, or was hit by a train, or joined the navy. Michael never cared what the truth was, he was just relieved that the man who saw him more as a punching bag than a son was finally out of his life.

His abusive childhood made him want a family life, something normal and routine, with the picket fences and kids running around his ankles to prove that he was better than his father ever was. He _needed_ that other stuff too, though. The rush of adrenaline, the feeling of a gun in his hand, all the chases and thrills that his unconventional life entailed. So far, the latter had won out, burying the desire for normalcy somewhere deep within him.

That had started to change when he met Amanda. She was one of the only people that seemed to understand him, and above all else, put up with his crazy stunts. It had annoyed Trevor to no end, probably because he started to think he was going soft. Unlike his friend, Michael knew that they couldn't do this forever, as much as he hated to admit it. He sighed...maybe one day Trevor would understand what he had to lose now. _If he ever finds a girl batshit insane enough to marry his ass, maybe,_ he thought with a chuckle.

He looked at Amanda as he twisted his wedding ring around his finger. They'd been married for a few weeks now. _Mrs. Townley,_ he thought lovingly, gazing at her sleeping form. Michael had made the decision to propose as soon as he learned she was pregnant. It was only a matter of time before they did it anyways, he just decided to speed up the process.

Michael frowned as his thoughts drifted back to the baby. He knew he should tell Amanda about his fears but he wasn't sure he was ready to share the emotions he'd bottled up about his youth. The only thing he'd told her was that his childhood was shitty like hers. Neither of them really wanted to elaborate beyond that. He sighed, sitting up, not noticing that Amanda was beginning to stir.

"Michael...?" she murmured quietly, making him jump a little in surprise.

"Shit," he muttered, turning towards her. "Did I wake you up?"

She shook her head, snuggling up closer to him. "I can't sleep either."

"What's wrong?" he asked softly, one hand idly running through her hair. Maybe she was having the same worries as he was. At least then he wouldn't feel so alone in his thoughts.

Amanda looked at him, biting her lip hesitantly. "Nothing," she said quickly. "Just one of those nights, you know?"

Michael didn't buy it, but he decided to let it slide at least until the morning. "I know just how you feel," he replied as he stroked his wife's hair.

She smiled weakly, resting her head on his shoulder. "You know, I never asked you how you got these," Amanda said thoughtfully, her fingers tracing over the scars he'd received in the twenty-three years he'd been alive.

Now it was Michael's turn to be unsure. It was an innocent enough question, but there was no right way to tell the girl you loved about the times you were grazed by a bullet or were beat by your father. He tried to shake the stress off for now. "Aw, babe, if you wanted me to take my shirt off you could have just _asked_ ," Michael laughed nervously, slipping his t-shirt over his head.

Her breath hitched as she noticed how the pale scars shined slightly in the moonlight peeking through the windows. Each one had a different story, each showing evidence of how much pain he'd overcame.

"Uh… there's something I should tell you before…" he stuttered slightly, unusual for the charming criminal. It was dark but Michael could feel Amanda's pleading gaze, silently telling him not to bottle up his emotions, that he wasn't alone in the world anymore.

He took a deep breath, trying to suck it up. "A lot of these…" Michael exhaled shakily, hating how helpless he sounded. "A lot of them...are from my dad, at least all of them until he abandoned me and my mom when I was a teenager."

Amanda looked at him in confusion for a moment before the realization dawned on her. Michael would have given anything to never see the look of shock and pure horror on her face again. "Oh," she whispered, burying her head in his shoulder. "Oh, Michael…"

They laid there in silence for a few minutes. He held her close, unable to form words of comfort. Eventually she murmured, "Tell me."

"Are you sure about this?" Michael asked gently, holding her free hand in one of his own.

She just nodded, her eyes glistening with tears that threatened to spill over. "I'm sure."

"Okay," he replied softly. He wondered where to begin but she did it for him. Wordlessly, her slim fingers moved across his body, coming to rest above a short mark on his forearm.

"That was for disrespect," he muttered, not able to meet her eyes. Maybe if he hadn't been so damn _pathetic_ he could have prevented his father from hurting him.

Amanda seemed to read his mind. Sometimes he swore she actually could, but maybe she just knew him that well. "You're not weak, Michael. There was nothing you could have done. It's not _your_ fault that your dad was a complete prick."

He just sighed. She was right, he knew that, but it didn't make the harsh reality any easier.

She patiently waited for a response but eventually accepted that there would be none. A bit of regret ran through her that she was making him reveal such painful memories, but this revealed a whole new level of trust he had in her. It was a bit amazing to her, even though the stories behind his scars weren't happy, but she wished that he could understand that they made him stronger than he ever was.

Her hand traversed to a thin line on his abs. "Talking back," was his short response.

A starfish-shaped wound on his shoulder. "Shot during a job a few weeks before I met you."

"Here?" A faded, small nick on his stubbled jawline.

"Uhm, that's not really important…" Michael said hastily.

She kept her finger firmly in place. "It can't be _that_ bad," she pouted.

"Ah...fine. When I shaved for the first time, I cut myself," he finally admitted, staring at the ceiling.

"Seriously?" she giggled slightly at the image of a teenage Michael shaving unsuccessfully for the first time.

The sheepish expression on his face told her everything. "I was young!" was his attempt to defend himself.

"Okay...how about this one?" she asked, gently touching a large, silvery scar on his side. The moonlight had it illuminated in such a prominent way that made it almost impossible for her to ignore.

Michael glanced down, the embarrassment on his face quickly gone, replaced by a dark, grim expression. "Oh, uh…trust me, you don't need to know," he replied quickly, looking away.

"I probably don't...but it doesn't mean I don't care to," Amanda whispered, her thumb running back and forth over the mark.

"I…" he trailed off, scratching his jaw with a sigh. "I don't know what that was for. He was just drunk and pissed off."

Michael finally looked back at Amanda when he realized her fingers had stopped moving, only to see that she was silently crying. "I'm sorry...it's just…" she tried to speak through her tears.

"Amanda, darling, look at me," he said before giving her a gentle kiss. "He can't hurt me anymore."

"But he did, Michael!" she furiously wiped away her tears. "What kind of parent beats and abandons their only child?"

"The kind that drinks about a case of beer a day," he muttered under his breath, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

His response didn't seem to help as she seemed to be even more hysteric. "What if _we_ end up as bad as that? Or...what if you die during a job and I have to raise our kid on my own? I can't do that, Michael...I can't!"

"I'm scared of that, too. But you wanna know how I see it?" Michael asked, to which she nodded yes.

"Alright, c'mere," he put his shirt back on before he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. "The way I see it is our parents were so bad because they probably had shitty parents before them and their parents did before them. It's a vicious fuckin' cycle, but you and I are gonna be the ones to break that, Mandy. We're gonna be the best parents ever, you'll see."

"You're sure?" she stared at him with a hopeful glint in her eyes.

"Yes, I _am_. I love you, baby. I have no idea how but we're gonna make this work," he said insistently.

"I love you too, Michael Townley," she smiled tiredly, pleasantly surprised by her husband's wisdom.

"Hey...and don't you ever worry about that other thing, okay? I promise I'll come back to you every single time," Michael reassured her, gripping her hand tight.

"Really?" she questioned with a soft smile.

"Forever," he breathed out tiredly as he held her near, comforted by her presence.

She smiled, his answer pleasing her. However, that didn't mean she couldn't have a little fun with him. "And a day?" she purred as she straddled him, resting her hands on his chest.

"And a day," he echoed confidently, his hands settling on her waist.

With a satisfied smirk, she kissed him gently, her fingers tangling in his hair. He pulled her closer as he kissed back, reveling in the comforting way her weight rested against him. It was a lot different than their usual lust filled, almost animalistic kisses, being more gentle and loving. It felt...really good, actually. Michael drew back, breathing heavily. He stared in wonderment at his wife, struck by the way the moonlight shined on her soft, pale features and made her beautiful eyes bluer than ever. All good things had to come to an end though. "Much as I'd love to make out all night, I think we better get some sleep," he said with a yawn as he guided her to lie back down.

"Fine…goodnight, Michael," she murmured as she cuddled close to him and shut her eyes.

"Goodnight, my darling," he mumbled, wrapping a muscular arm around her midsection.

They both fell asleep quickly, their fears gone, replaced by the hope that everything would turn out okay for them in the end.


	6. First Date

_Feels like forever since I've updated this! The holidays were super busy, sorry I didn't get an upload in last week. As for the Christmas fic, I just didn't really like how it turned out. Anyways, here is a chapter about Michael and Amanda's first date._

* * *

"A bar? Really, Michael?" Amanda leaned against her counter with a smirk, phone held in between her ear and shoulder. "On our first real date?" Their last attempt had been ruined by an interruption from a very high Trevor Philips.

"Hey, we don't have _that_ many options in this town! We can talk, drink, and do, ah, _other things_ ," his voice lowered a bit and she could practically see the shit-eating grin he had on his face.

"I guess you're right," she agreed with a sigh. "This better be the best date of my life, Townley."

Michael chuckled on the other end of the line. "Oh, I'm not too worried about that, sweetheart. I'll see you tonight," he said before he hung up.

"Asshole…" she muttered with a small smile on her face.

* * *

Michael sat the glass of whiskey in front of her, watching as she made a face at the drink, all blue eyes narrowing and red lips frowning. That red lipstick that had stuck to the rim of her already empty glass of wine and would surely be stuck to his lips by the end of the night. A devilish grin crossed his face. "You don't drink it?" he asked, sipping his half empty glass.

She swirled the contents of the glass. "Only when I'm desperate or wasted."

"You're barely even old enough to drink," he said.

"Since two weeks ago I am," she replied cheerfully.

A confused look crossed Michael's face. "But...we met three weeks ago…"

Amanda just shrugged. "Some rules are meant to be broken, darling. Besides, I have no idea how you're crazy enough that you can drink this sober," she said in disbelief but took a mouthful of the golden liquid anyways.

"Mandy, you hurt me," he pouted, feigning shock.

"Just being honest with you," Amanda said with a catlike smirk, a predatory look in her eyes. It made his heart beat a bit faster, cheeks go a bit warmer. "Aw, I made you blush."

"Not many girls have had that effect on me," he admitted with a little smirk, absentmindedly running a finger along the condensed glass. "I gotta say, I'm impressed."

"Oh, thank God. I was starting to worry I never would get past that stone wall of manliness," she replied in sarcastic relief.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

A blush crept up her cheeks as he raised an eyebrow at her, midnight blue eyes shining with amusement. "It means that behind your tough guy act, you're the most hopeless romantic I've ever seen."

"Where did you get that idea? I _could_ just be this macho stud all the time," Michael asked, a movie-star grin spreading across his face.

"I wasn't so drunk the night we met that I didn't get all of your corny movie references. Now that I know about your little _job_ , I know that you're not quite the charming, innocent guy you make out to be. Face it, Michael, you like to think that you're the good guy."

He shrugged indifferently but she didn't miss the way his breath hitched for a second, and mentally added a tally mark to the amount of times she's made him do that. The number kept growing higher and higher. " _If_ that were true, which it ain't, how would that make you feel?"

"Intrigued. I like my men conflicted, it keeps things interesting. Too bad for you..." she sighed, taking a drink.

"Whoa, hey, I never said I _wasn't_ conflicted. Babe, you're twisting my words," he laughed nervously and began to wonder if _he_ was the mouse to her cat in this game they played.

"Right…" she smirked, knowing that she beat him at that. "You know, I just don't get a lot of things about you, Michael."

"You're doing a pretty good job so far," he chuckled, reaching across the table to grab her hand, cold against his. "Shoot."

She squinted at him for a moment. "For starters, I'm not sure why you hang around that maniac Trevor."

He rolled his eyes slightly, unsure of where she was going with this. "Because he's my friend?"

"No, that's not the entire reason...is it, darling? That guy idolizes you, and don't even try to fight me on that. You _love_ the attention he gives you, I can see it whenever I'm with the both of you. Or maybe it's the fact that he scares the shit out of you and everyone around you and you don't want to get on his bad side?" she crossed her arms with a smug smile. _Checkmate,_ she thought.

"Alright, _maybe_ that second part is right," Michael admitted, "but I really don't care about the attention."

Amanda leaned forward against the table, the dim light above the secluded booth showing the way her eyes sparkled. Her lips pulled back in a stomach-twisting grin to reveal perfect white teeth. "Not even a little bit?"

He threw his hands up in frustration. "Fuck…okay, I do. I'm a selfish prick with even worse friends. Have I told you that you're good at this?

"No, but I had a feeling you were thinking that," she said with a self-satisfied grin.

"Can we talk about something more simple, Mandy?" he asked, voice almost pleading.

She giggled, watching him struggle under her gaze. "Sure, babe. Like what?"

"Ah…" he trailed off, eyebrows furrowed in thought. "Shit, I don't know, what's your favorite color?"

"Creative as always, Michael," she noted. "Red, I guess."

"Like your lips?" he asked, eyes maybe a little too focused on them.

She grabbed his chin with one hand and tilted his face back up to hers, fingers moving across his stubbled jaw. "Eyes up here, honey. Yeah, like my lips. Like blood and love. Like the color of your face right now. Points for observation, by the way. What's yours?" she bit back a laugh as a blush crept up his neck.

"Probably blue," he said simply once he recovered, staring at the amber liquid that remained in his glass.

"Dark or light?"

"Hmm…" he looked up, staring at her face in concentration. "Light, like your eyes."

She raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "Did you really ask me that question just so you could flirt with me?"

"Is it working?" he asked hopefully, handsome features gazing up at her innocently. Her cheeks grew rosy as she looked down, suddenly fascinated by her drink.

"Maybe…" she moved her hand to his arm, feeling the muscles beneath his jacket. "Don't get cocky, Townley."

Michael chuckled as he leaned forward to press his lips against hers. "I got news for you, sweetheart: I've been cocky my entire life."

* * *

"Maybe we've been drinking a bit more than we should," Michael muttered numbly as he pinned Amanda against a wall in the dark corner of the bar, bodies flush together as they drunkenly made out. His only reply was a simple shake of her head. Her hands settled on his biceps and it suddenly struck her just how impressive his body was. With his line of work, he probably needed to be fit but it didn't fail to attract her. From those broad shoulders to the abs that were pressing against her, and oh God, those _arms_. She became too wrapped up in her thoughts to notice the chuckle vibrating deep in his chest until he pulled away. "Like what you're seeing, darlin'?"

He wasn't as drunk as she was. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't had as many drinks as she did or she was a bit of a lightweight. Either way, he was a bit tipsy, the slight flush of his face and shininess of eyes proving so.

Too wasted to even think of a smart response, she just pulled him closer, her lips meeting his once again, the kiss bit less sloppy and more passionate than the last. Kissing him was nothing like she'd ever experienced before, Amanda realized, shuddering in delight as he deepened the kiss. All of the other guys she had been with in her life paled in comparison to the way that Michael was making her feel. Her lips slowly wandered over to his jawline. His hands roamed her body before one eventually gripped her waist, the other tangled in her hair. He pulled her closer as she kept pressing kisses against his jaw. With a coy smile, she drew back and wiped away the red lipstick decorating his face with her thumb.

He smirked at her, starting to nibble at a spot below her ear. Coarse stubble scratched against her as his lips ran along her neck, him reveling in her muffled moan. "We really shouldn't be doing this right here. I happen to like this bar," he muttered in a low voice when she instinctively reached for his belt buckle.

"Then take me somewhere private," she finally whispered, the hint of nervousness in her voice betraying her cool, calm demeanor. His blue eyes were practically glowing and she wasn't entirely sure if it was her drunkenness or the darkness of the bar. Maybe it was a bit of both.

* * *

"Kinda hard to open the door when we're making out," Michael chuckled as he drew back, swiftly unlocking the door of his trailer.

Amanda pouted as she watched him open the door. "You started it," she muttered, shivering from the bitter North Yankton climate. The ride to his place had been a short one but to her it had seemed like an eternity. Michael had been just as impatient as her, his hand had been resting on her leg the whole way with a smug smile on his face.

"Sorry, babe, sometimes I just can't help myself," he said, interlacing his gloved fingers with hers and leading her inside. "After you," he smirked, holding the bedroom door open.

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek as she went in. "What a gentleman."

"I try to be," he shrugged off his coat before pulling her into a kiss. She immediately pulled him closer, only breaking apart for quick gasps of air and to tug impatiently at his shirt. Michael broke the kiss for a split second to lift it over his head, wasting no time in removing her own.

Amanda swiftly undid his belt, watching as he kicked off his pants and laughing as he nearly fell over.

"Don't judge me," he immediately muttered, standing back up to his full height.

"Oh, I'm not judging," she purred as she rested her hands on his shoulders, backing him up until he hit the edge of the bed. He fell onto it, a frown that was more cute than intimidating to her crossing his face. She straddled him, fingers resting against the fine hairs on his muscular chest. "Not at all, darling."

He raised his eyebrows as he looked up at her. "Somehow I don't believe that."

"Ah, stop being so damn sensitive," she said, leaning in for a kiss. It was a bit rougher this time, hands wandering, more tongue, more body contact.

He shivered as her hands ran over the scars on his abdomen. "Goddamn…" Michael panted out as he grabbed her by the waist and moved on top of her. A smile crossed her face when she noticed that he gazed at her with a look in his eyes like he wanted to devour her.

"Like what you're seeing?" she asked, mocking his words from earlier.

He didn't respond, but the look on his face said enough. Wordlessly, he pulled her bra straps off of her shoulders and started to kiss her neck. His lips started to wander along her body until he reached the waistband of her pants. Strong hands unbuttoned her jeans, his fingers slowly starting to unzip them.

"Michael Townley…" she growled as he smirked up at her and continued his leisurely pace. "Has anyone ever told you that you are a tease?"

"Once or twice," he admitted with a chuckle as he finished sliding them from her legs. "...but I've never gotten any complaints."

"Yeah, I bet you don't, pretty boy-" she didn't have time to finish her sarcastic response before he cut her off with a kiss.

He pulled away, a devilish grin on his face, "And I don't plan on you being the first girl with one."

* * *

Michael fell back against the bed, skin slick with sweat against hers. "Marry me," he breathed out dreamily. Amanda giggled, breath warm against his neck. She rested her head on his chest, breathing heavily.

"Amanda…" he murmured tiredly.

"Yes?" she hummed in contentment, blue eyes half-lidded with lust and exhaustion.

He sighed, trying to think of the right words to say, "I... I want this again, I want you."

She smirked as she reached up to smooth the hair away from his forehead, "Michael, if you wanna be my boyfriend, you could just ask."

"Okay, fine…" he rolled his eyes teasingly as he pulled her closer, "will you be my girlfriend?"

"Hmm…" a thoughtful look crossed her face as she ran her fingers through his dark hair. "I would love to. That wasn't so hard, was it?" she asked when she saw him break out in a smile.

"Guess not…" he muttered and shut his eyes. "Night, babe."

She laughed, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "Good night, darling."


	7. Aftermath

_Another earlier upload! I've been really inspired to write more lately so needless to say there are a lot of stories I've been working on. Anyways, this chapter kind of touches on how Michael and Amanda felt after Ending C as things obviously wouldn't be perfect yet and there would be a lot of issues they still needed to try to fix._

* * *

Michael couldn't stop the grin forming on his face as he drove away from the cliff where he'd finally put an end to his criminal career. He started to blast some '80's music as he drove back to the highway, his mood better than it'd been in a while. Devin was gone, Trevor didn't want to kill him anymore, he had millions of dollars, and he could finally start reconnecting with his family.

"Fuckin' A," he muttered to himself excitedly as he grabbed his phone from his pocket and pulled up his contacts list. Michael turned down the radio slightly as he called his wife, who answered almost immediately

"Hey, baby," he greeted, trying to keep his tone nonchalant.

"Michael! Did you find them yet?" Amanda asked, her voice a mixture of relief and hopefulness.

"Uh...yeah, yeah... they aren't gonna bother us anymore." Michael was still having trouble processing the information himself.

He heard her sigh in relief on the other end. "Thank God. I miss you, asshole."

Michael smiled slightly. Even if she didn't act like it, he knew she got worried sick about him. Though he didn't want her to be so stressed out, it was nice to know she cared. "Listen, I'm a few hours out of town and I'll get back really late but you and the kids can go home now."

"Okay," she said, excitement clear in her voice. "I better start packing then. I love you, Michael."

He smirked, excited to have another shot at their relationship. Things would be different this time. "I love you too, babe. I'll see you later, okay?"

It had been a week since Michael had gotten home and things were getting back to normal. Well, as normal as their family could be anyways. Amanda, however, was worried about her husband. Ever since he returned, he'd been quiet. Not the seething, angry silence that was common before they'd gotten back together but also not the caring, slightly less bitter man he'd turned into. Just...quiet. It worried her because she'd seen it before, years ago when she'd been too blind to see how hurt and depressed he was. That distant sounding voice and the faraway look in his eyes were just the beginning.

Of course, she couldn't pretend to be unaffected by everything that had happened. Nightmares about the night when hitmen held guns to her and Tracey's heads and Michael was nearly murdered in front of her had been tormenting her for weeks. When she had told Michael about the bad dreams, his only response had been a bitter, "Welcome to the club." Even in the pitch black of their room, the dark circles under his own eyes had been evident before he'd rolled over and fallen back asleep, leaving her alone with her dark thoughts.

Now, it was hot as hell out and her concern about her husband had only been amplified. When she'd gone outside, it was as if she'd gone back in time a few months. Michael was passed out on one of the lounge chairs by the pool, a half empty bottle of whiskey beside him. It scared her so much because it reminded her of the drunk, depressed man he'd been. She bit her lip softly, torn between letting him rest or waking him up.

In the end, her worry won out. "Babe," she said as she gave his shoulder a slight shake.

Michael's only response was a soft groan. "Five more minutes."

"Michael...wake up," she said louder, shaking his shoulder again.

Though he stirred slightly, he was obviously still stuck in the dream he was having. "If you're another guy here to kill me, fuck off for a few days," he slurred angrily, dead to the world.

Shocked by his answer, she staggered back a couple steps. Was there really that many guys that had wanted him dead...? Just as she had been considering leaving him alone, she spotted the hose out of the corner of her eye and smirked, an idea forming in her mind. A hilarious, brilliant one that proved that maybe she had a bit of a death wish.

With a sigh of frustration, Amanda dragged the hose closer to the pool and turned it to the highest setting. It was stupid... probably one of the dumbest ideas she'd ever had, she realized, but she raised the hose and turned it on.

"What in the _hell_?!" Michael sprang awake immediately, his hand moving to his waist as if he was reaching for a gun that wasn't there. As soon as he realized that it was only her, he fell back against the chair with a sigh, completely drenched. She bit her tongue, trying to stifle a laugh from the expression of pure _what-the-fuck_ on his face. Amanda felt a bit bad about it but that look alone made it completely worth it, no matter how pissed he probably was.

He glared at her for a moment, then let out another defeated, long suffering sigh as he wrung out the bottom of his polo shirt. "Amanda…" he growled as he ran a hand through his dripping wet hair, frowning when it stood up in little spikes.

This time she couldn't stop the giggle that escaped her. "That's a sexy look you've got going on there," she laughed, even as her hand twitched to smooth it back. Judging by the look on his face, he didn't agree one bit. "Oh, _come on_ , Michael. Don't you remember what it's like to have fun?" she teased with a coy smile, drawling out the last word.

It was a challenge; she knew that as soon as she said it. Now all that was left was for him to take the bait. As much as she loved him, he was never the greatest at taking a hint. She crossed her arms, an eyebrow raised as if to say _I'm waiting_.

"Not really…" Michael grumbled under his breath. Then, his expression turned thoughtful. "You do know I'm going to have to get you for that, right?" He stood up as a smirk worked its way across his face.

That's when Amanda knew she'd better run. Her husband gave chase and she barely had time to wonder how he got so fucking _fast_ before she felt his powerful arms wrap around her. She laughed slightly as he lifted her up bridal style. "Okay…you got me. Now, can you put me back down?" she asked with a pout as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Michael shook his head with a grin, causing droplets of water to fall on her. "Uh-uh. Nope," he said, starting to carry her towards the pool.

"Then what are you going to do?" she tilted her head, hoping the slight seductiveness of her voice would distract him from the plan he no doubt had.

"I'm…" he started with a mischievous glint in his blue eyes, pausing for a moment as he stepped over the hose she had dropped. "Going to have _fun_."

"What are you talking a-" she started before realizing where he had taken her. He stood at the edge of the pool, holding her above the water. Amanda looked up at him in panic, her eyes silently pleading with him not to drop her. "Babe, no-"

He quelled her protests with a kiss, the taste of whiskey lingering on his tongue as she begrudgingly allowed him to explore her own. He pulled away, that stupidly attractive smirk still stuck on his face. "I'm sorry, baby," was his only response before he let go, causing her to fall into the pool with a splash.

The temperature of the water hit her before anything else and she wondered if it was even possible for it to be this cold on a disgustingly hot day like this. As she surfaced, coughing, she heard Michael laughing his ass off and _god_ he was lucky that she was glad she made him that happy, even though she wouldn't dare tell him that. She furiously wiped the water away from her eyes, sighing as her fingers came away black with mascara.

"I think the panda look suits you," he commented smugly.

"Oh, shut up, Michael. You just wait," Amanda spluttered, glaring up at him. She tried to climb out before slipping and falling back into the water.

Michael held a hand to his mouth, though it didn't really help in suppressing his laughter. "I'm so scared. Fuckin' terrified, Mandy," he promised, flashing a movie-star grin. There it was again. That cocky confidence that had drawn her to him so many years ago. It wasn't really something she could resist, despite her many, _many_ attempts to. Even if she had, he had become too good at it.

"Asshole…" she muttered under her breath, trying in vain to brush away the chocolate brown locks of hair plastered to her face.

"Sorry...what was that?" Michael asked, confidence dripping from his voice, something that made her decide that her revenge was due.

"I said, 'I love you so much, honey.' Damn...it didn't sound like that? Now... _darling_ ," she rested her arms on the edge of the pool, forcing an exaggerated smile through gritted teeth. "Will you please help me out?"

"Ah, fine...let's call it a draw," he leaned down and offered her one of his hands.

"Maybe chivalry isn't dead, you just need to ask for it," Amanda remarked. With a satisfied smirk, she took his hand and pulled, sending him forward into the pool.

"I… really should have seen that coming," Michael admitted, making a face as he spat out some water.

She gazed up at him with a teasing smile. "Yeah...you really should have, you dick."

"Oh, screw you, too," he said in a playful tone and splashed her in the face.

Amanda gasped at the chill. "You son of a…" she muttered and jumped on top of him, sending both of them underwater. Despite her husband's struggles, she managed to hold him under until they both had to surface, gasping for air.

"Jesus, 'Manda…" Michael rasped breathlessly, "you trying to drown me or-"

"Shut up, you idiot," she interrupted as she grabbed the collar of his shirt and kissed him.

Michael was surprised at first before pulling her closer, kissing back with equal fervor. Time seemed to pause for a moment as they kissed each other lovingly in the pool of their overpriced mansion.

She was pretty sure he only pulled away to catch his breath. Still, he kept his eyes shut, their foreheads pressed together. She stared at him, admiring how innocent and happy he looked. The dark circles under his eyes disappeared for a moment and so did her overwhelming need to make everything normal again.

He opened them, almost making her jump in surprise. Those blue eyes that stared into her own now were so different than how he looked at her just months ago, filled with genuine lust and longing rather than poorly concealed rage. It reminded her of how he looked at her when they first met, a time when she was barely old enough to drink and was already hopelessly in love with a charming, reckless thief.

"God...I missed this so fuckin' much," Michael whispered as his hands slid under the water and rested on her waist, breaking her out of her stupor.

"Me too…" Amanda murmured as she rested her hands on his shoulders, feeling the strength and muscle in the arms that held her as if he was the only thing keeping her afloat. Her eyes roamed over his body appreciatively. They'd been together for over twenty years but she found herself in awe of how handsome he was, especially since she hadn't taken the time to notice in a while. It was still a bit jarring to realize that they were _here_ , actually getting along. She was unable to snap out of her daze until she noticed that Michael was moving closer to her.

He swam towards her slowly, backing her up until he had her pinned against the wall of the pool. His hand tangled itself in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her neck. Amanda's breath caught in her throat as she felt his lips latch onto her neck. She mentally cursed as her hips started to grind against her husband's, as if on their own accord. The chuckle that escaped him as his lips traced over her pulse point told her he had definitely noticed.

Blushing furiously, she dug her nails into his shoulders and roughly pulled him closer. Her hands moved up the back of his head, her fingers intertwining in his wet black hair. She inhaled deeply, the scent of him filling her as he started gently kissing her jaw. Whiskey, chlorine, and the faintest hint of cigar smoke. His lips finished their passionate journey back up to hers and met each other in a deep kiss.

The hand that wasn't in her hair traveled down her back and held her steady as she moved against his hips, only stopping to give her ass a quick squeeze. This time she couldn't stop the moan escaped her as she kissed him, wrapping a leg around his waist to hold him tight. His hand slid up the front of her tank top, wandering up her stomach and chest. Michael drew away slightly, panting. "Have I told you…" he breathed out as he bit down on her neck, savoring in her sharp intake of breath, "...how much I love you?"

"Not as much as I want…" she managed to gasp out.

"Oh, don't act like I didn't notice the sexy act earlier," he smirked against her skin. His fingers continued to travel further, only hesitantly pausing once they reached the waistband of her yoga pants. He looked back up at her, his bright blue eyes asking a silent question.

Amanda only murmured her answer before she leaned in and pressed their lips together. Michael grinned against the kiss, pushing her flat against the wall of the pool. She tugged at his lower lip with her teeth, her hands still buried in his hair. His hand went under the waistband of her pants, about to travel further when-

"Get a room!" Jimmy's voice boomed through the dining room and out to the pool, causing the couple to jump and look around wildly.

" _Damn_ it, kid," Michael growled under his breath, hanging his head.

"He sure knows when to pick his moments, doesn't he?" Amanda muttered disappointedly and half-heartedly splashing her husband in the face.

He scoffed as he climbed out of the pool. "Yes, he does…" he agreed, grabbing her hand and pulling her out.

* * *

She sat in his lap on one of the poolside chairs, fingers idly running through his still-damp hair. The Los Santos sunset was a beautiful thing, the city outlined by a sky of light blues and pinks. Both of them stared wordlessly at it, perfectly content with the silence. Michael's eyes gazed into hers lovingly when he reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She moved to straddle him, arms wrapping around his neck as she pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

"Michael…" Amanda murmured hesitantly after she pulled away, "I need to ask you something."

"Shoot," he said, his breath warm against her lips.

She bit her lip slightly, an unsure look on her face. "Are...are you serious about this, Michael? About us?"

"Yeah, of course," he answered shakily. The mask of confidence finally dropped, revealing an exhausted expression. "What makes you ask that?"

"You've been very quiet lately, darling...you sounded so happy the other day when you called me on the phone."

Michael let out a deep sigh. "I know...I was. I've just been so tired after everything that's happened these past few months."

"Good...I just don't want it to turn into what happened last time. I can't watch you deteriorate right in front of me again," she said with a helpless look in her eyes.

"It won't. I promise you, Amanda. I was a shitty husband and father…I can see that now. I just…" he scratched at the stubble on his jaw thoughtfully. "I can't stop thinking about how many close calls there were this time around. I mean, shit, you and the kids almost died because of me." She opened her mouth to say that it wasn't his fault, to lie and say that it didn't affect her before he cut her off. "Don't pretend that's not what those nightmares you've been having are about."

"It's going to take some time for those to go away, right?" Amanda asked with a sad smile on her face.

"Yeah, it is, we're pretty fucked up, babe," he admitted with a bitter chuckle.

She let out a genuine laugh, "Are we gonna be okay, Michael?"

He smirked as he leaned in for a kiss. "I think we're gonna be just fine."


	8. Everything For You

_Back with another early upload! I wanted to upload a bit earlier because of the number of tests I have in school for the next couple of days. Again, thank you for all of the positive feedback! I honestly didn't expect this fic to do this well. This chapter is quite a bit longer and is kind of a twist on what could have happened during "Did Somebody Say Yoga?"._

* * *

"I'm done."

Amanda opened her mouth to continue yelling at him before blinking at the conversation whiplash. "What are you talking about?"

Michael stood up, slowly wading out of the pool. He glared sharply at a smirking Fabien before he met her gaze again, eyes full of hurt and helplessness. "I said I'm done. I'm tired of playing this game, Amanda. Of seeing who hurts each other the most. We can get a divorce, fine, whatever the hell you want."

"Michael, I…" she managed to say, at a loss for words.

"Stop. Just...stop," he said, deadly quiet. His hand reached up to smooth the wet hair away from his forehead. "I get that you haven't wanted me for a long time...that's why you're screwing this prick. You stay here with the kids, I'll grab my things and be gone by tomorrow."

She almost laughed at how utterly _fucked up_ their lives were. How could a failed yoga session turn into the thing that finally ended their relationship? How was _he_ the one leaving even though he had every right to kick her out? Instead, she stood there, staring at him in shock.

"You don't need to say anything. Goodbye, Amanda," Michael said softly, brushing past her as he walked back into the house.

Fabien grabbed her hand, that smug smile plastered onto his face. "That man is nothing but a mass of negative energy. I am glad that you are finally free of him, my love."

Amanda shook his hand off with a disgusted look on her face. "I need to think about this. Just give me some alone time, okay?" She turned around to face him, putting on a faux smile. "See you later."

"Fuck…" she muttered under her breath as soon as he left. Her legs felt like they were about to collapse underneath her as she walked to her car. Michael was already gone, no doubt celebrating his newfound freedom, she thought bitterly.

Amanda drove aimlessly around Los Santos, trying to get as far away from the house as she could. Maybe if she went fast enough she could find herself back in North Yankton ten years ago, back when they were all happy. Before they had wasted their lives shouting at each other.

Moisture stung at the edges of her eyes. "Damn it…" she growled as she gripped the steering wheel tighter, letting the tears stream down her cheeks.

Every place she passed didn't fail to remind her of her husband. The docks where he kept that boat that he loved more than her, the theaters he used to drag her to see whatever corny movie that had come out, that strip club where he went the night he cheated on her...

Before long, she found herself back in the driveway of her mansion, not even really remembering how she got there. How she got to this point in her life, really. She didn't even notice Michael's car until he walked out of the front door, boxes of his stuff in his arms. Through her still blurry haze of tears, she nearly ran into him, eyes downcast so he wouldn't notice her puffy eyes or ruined makeup.

Michael left her without another word. Maybe it was wishful thinking on her part, but she could have sworn she saw tears in his own eyes.

* * *

Michael stared lifelessly out of the windows of his new, big apartment. New, big, and empty. It was a nice place, really, a penthouse right next to the movie studio and a view overlooking the city, but he had nobody to share it with. He supposed that was his own fault. It was his fault that his wife had cheated on him, it was his fault that he left two months ago, it was his fault that the divorce papers showed up a few days earlier.

He stood in his bedroom, glass of whiskey in hand, staring out into Los Santos to about where his- _her_ \- house was. He hadn't talked to her since the day he moved out, even though he had so many things he wanted to tell her. Those divorce papers had said enough for both of them, though, he reflected, downing the rest of the drink in one swift gulp.

A small smile crossed his face as he turned on his phone to reread the text from Solomon. At least there was one thing that made him happy now: his job. "Big night tonight…" he muttered as he turned to look in the mirror, adjusting his tie.

* * *

Amanda felt uncomfortable. At this bar or in this dress, really. A few months ago, she would have been all too happy to drink expensive alcohol in an outfit that was maybe a little too short for her and flirt with rich, younger men but ever since Michael had left, it had lost all of its appeal. It had been her daughter's idea to drag her here, though, one of her latest attempts to get her "back into the dating world," as she had put it. She suspected that it was more for Tracey's enjoyment than her own but she really didn't care. _As long as she isn't out partying or auditioning for T.V. shows again_ , she thought, lips turning up in a smirk around the rim of her wine glass.

She set the glass down, only half listening to her daughter tell her about how Michael somehow had gotten an actual job as a movie producer. "He's like _actually_ cool now," Tracey sounded surprised at her own words.

Amanda had to bite back a snarky comment about how he seemed happier without her. "I'm glad that you and your father have been getting along," was all she said before she turned around in her stool to face the rest of the packed restaurant.

Her eyes cautiously examined the crowd, feeling the familiar sense of someone's gaze lingering on her. A sense of horror started to wash over her as she realized that only one man had ever given her that feeling. One man with a stunning set of blue eyes eerily similar to the ones across the room that were staring back into her own.

She swiftly turned back to the bar, finishing over half of her drink in the process. "Maybe we should get going-" Amanda started nervously before being cut off

"Look at what we have here," a charming voice interrupted her.

"Shit…" she muttered under her breath as Tracey hugged her father, almost squealing in joy. Amanda still couldn't help but let a small smile cross her face at the moment. "Michael," she said nonchalantly, "you're looking well."

He really was. Gone was his usual layer of stubble, his clean-shaven face showing off his chiseled jawline. He was dressed in a tuxedo, just as he was the night they got married. _And looking as handsome, too…_

She mentally slapped herself, trying to get those thoughts out of her head. Michael, meanwhile, reluctantly pulled himself away from Tracey. "You're not looking too bad yourself," he smirked at her before turning to the white-haired man next to him. "Solomon, you've met my daughter."

"Of course! Lovely girl…" the older movie producer said before turning to her. "And you must be Amanda. Your husband is a genius!"

"You're too kind, boss," Michael replied, a rare twinkle of happiness in his eyes.

"Ex," she suddenly said. "We're getting a divorce." A pang of guilt hit her as the smile faded from Michael's face.

"Yep..." he said, gaze averting to the ground. He recovered quickly enough, that overconfident grin returning. "So, what are two girls like yourself doing here all alone?"

"Looking for guys," she deadpanned.

"Really?" his expression turned thoughtful. "Well...I happen to be a guy."

"Uh...and what about me?" Tracey interjected.

"There might be some actors that are scared shitless of me here…" Michael trailed off as he looked towards a group of younger men.

Tracey's eyes lit up in excitement. "Thanks, daddy. Bye!" she said, taking off to go flirt.

Amanda glared at her daughter as she left, blaming her for leaving her alone with Michael and his boss. Michael just smirked, knowing exactly what he was doing.

"Michael, it's been fun, but I have an early morning at the studio tomorrow," Solomon chuckled as he said his goodbyes.

"And then there were two," Michael said after his boss was gone.

"You're loving this, aren't you?" she asked bitterly.

He grinned at her and sat down at the now-empty barstool next to her. "Every moment of it."

She stared at him while he ordered a drink. What was she supposed to say to the man she hadn't seen in two months and sent divorce papers to not even a week ago? A glint of light caught her eye as he lifted his glass of whiskey to his mouth. "I see you're still wearing it."

A confused look briefly crossed his face before he glanced down to his hand, "Oh, it helps in this line of work, y'know."

She opened her mouth to ask what that meant before an image filled her mind. Young, pretty actresses flirting with the older, handsome movie producer, trying to get a part…

Warmth spread up her cheeks as she finished the rest of her drink, fingers curled in a death grip around the wine glass. Michael took notice, cocking an eyebrow. "Is someone jealous?"

"Not at all," Amanda muttered through gritted teeth, not meeting his teasing gaze.

"I'd almost believe that if you weren't about to snap this in half," he chuckled as he gently pried her fingers away from the glass before turning to the bar and ordering her another drink.

She smiled at him in thanks as she took a drink, needing all of the liquid courage she could get to get through the night. "So, what have you been up to? Actually, never mind, it's probably better if I don't know."

"Right back at you, but I'll have you know that I don't do that shit anymore," he said.

"Really?" she raised her eyebrows in surprise. "So, the things that I've seen on the news these past couple of months have had absolutely nothing to do with you?"

"Alright, alright, I've only been done with that for a couple of weeks," he admitted in defeat.

She chuckled, shaking her head, "You never changed."

"I could say the same about you, but I don't feel like getting into that right here," Michael let out a low laugh as his hand wandered over to hers, thumb running across her fingers.

To both of their surprise, she didn't pull away, instead looking sadly down at the ring on his finger. "How did we get here, Michael?" she wondered aloud.

The cool metal continued to brush against her hand. "Ah, let's see. I drove and you probably did, too…"

She slapped his arm, even as a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I'm serious, you idiot. What happened to our lives?"

"I don't know…" his expression turned grim, smirk fading from his face. "Maybe we're just a pair of assholes, maybe we're a pair of idiots."

"Maybe…" she roughly pulled her hand away as the harsh reality of their relationship set in. What was she doing flirting with the man who had caused her so much pain?

He wordlessly downed his drink before turning back to her, eyes glinting with sadness. "Let's try to forget about that and have fun, okay?" he said, seemingly reading her mind.

* * *

Maybe she'd been drinking a bit more than she had promised. Amanda only realized this as she noticed the broadness of his shoulders, the way his muscles showed through the sleeves of his suit, how his eyes shined in the dim light of the alley next to the bar. The sound of his voice cut through her dizziness.

"Amanda?"

"W-what?" she managed to stammer out.

Smoke poured from his mouth as Michael let out a chuckle, lips curled into a smile around his cigarette. "I've been trying to talk to you for about five minutes but I wanna ask you when you started smoking again," he said as he put it out.

She saw a cigarette in her own hand and immediately put it out. "I don't know...since you left, I guess."

It was then that she noticed at how little space there was between them. " _Why_ did you start?" his breath was warm against her lips.

"It…" she started, breath hitching as his lips met the side of her neck. "It reminds me of you," she whispered, practically seeing his pleading blue eyes .

He just nodded, too drunk to think of a response. His lips traveled over her neck, up her jaw, before hesitantly pressing them to her own.

Her hands tugged at his shirt as she pulled him closer. They kissed, putting an end to the teasing remarks and longing looks that they'd been giving each other the whole night. All of the pretenses dropped, only focusing on the way their tongues rediscovered each other's mouths.

His hands started to wander from her waist to her thighs, just about to get to the hemline of her dress when she rested her hand on his chest. "Michael…" she panted out as she pulled away. "We're drunk…"

"That doesn't matter…" he murmured insistently.

"Yes...yes, it does. This is a bad idea… we're getting a divorce and we shouldn't be doing this…"'

Michael staggered back, a betrayed look on his face. "Right…" he said, unable to meet her gaze. He called her a cab to take her home, not saying another word to her.

* * *

Amanda stared out the windows of her house, glass of wine in her hand. A storm raged on outside, the weather perfectly reflecting her mood. She couldn't stop thinking about the previous night, about the conflicting emotions towards her husband. Her phone buzzed from beside her on the couch. _Speak of the devil,_ she thought as she looked at her phone, a new text message from Michael showing up.

" _We need to talk right now."_

"Fuck…" she muttered under her breath, not even having time to reply before the doorbell rang.

She opened the door to the sight of Michael standing in the pouring rain. She stood in the doorway awkwardly, unsure of what to say.

He smiled at her slightly. "Don't worry, I'll try to be brief," he said, glancing up at the sky.

"Michael...I told you, last night didn't mean anything-" she started.

His bitter chuckle cut her off. "It sure as hell meant something to me."

"We were drunk. Our relationship's been over for a long time," she said harshly.

"And why's that, Amanda? Let's not forget that you're not innocent in this, either," his voice had taken on an angry edge.

"Oh, let me think of some reasons…you murdering people, drinking and feeling bad about it afterwards, cheating…" she seethed, voice rising with each statement.

"That's real funny coming from you," he shot back.

She had to bite her tongue to keep herself from screaming. "At least I tried to repair our relationship before you did nothing and ignored me for years!"

"I had to play a role, Amanda. We wouldn't even be in Los Santos if it weren't for me! I did everything! Everything for you and the kids!" he yelled.

"What was that role, Michael? The cheating husband? The drunk, distant father?" she asked sarcastically.

His face fell at that comment. "Ah, forget this. I'm leaving," he turned around, angrily stomping towards his car.

"Oh, I'm not done yet," Amanda yelled, storming out into the rain after him. A little voice in her head wondered why she was even bothering, but now years' worth of bottled up emotions were surfacing.

"What if I'm done?" he turned back to face her. "I need to know something...something I've been thinking about. Do you really think that I wanted this? I never wanted to be that couple that got a divorce just because they didn't care enough to fix their problems."

A shiver ran through her as rivulets of water ran down the back of her tank top. Moisture stung at the edges of her eyes. She tried her hardest to convince herself that it was from the rain. "You could've fooled me," she muttered through chattering teeth.

"You didn't even try to help me _once_ when I was feeling worthless, like I didn't have a purpose in my life anymore. You just sat there and whined about how 'pathetic' and 'psychotic' I was while I tried to deal with everything alone," he said, voice shaking in anger.

"How was I supposed to help when you were passed out from drinking too much most of the time and the other half of the time you wouldn't listen to a word I said?" she asked.

He sighed as he ran his hands through his dripping hair in frustration. "Did you think that fucking every guy you could find was the answer to that?"

"You started it," the words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it. It was a low blow, she knew that, but it was all she had. Tears ran freely down her face as she waited for his response.

Michael almost laughed, as if knowing that it was her desperate last attempt. Instead, he ran a hand down his face to wipe away the water. "You don't think that I regret that every single day? I knew that I had made the biggest mistake of my life that night, that I was a stupid asshole but you made me feel even worse about myself. I drink to dull the pain of what happened that night and how it led to the only girl I've ever loved sending me those divorce papers a few days ago," his voice quivered and he wiped at his eyes as if to brush away tears.

Her body shook in anger, voice starting to rise, "Why didn't you just tell me? You get at me for being stubborn, but compared to you-"

Before she could even finish her sentence, he kissed her, hands resting on her cheeks so she couldn't pull away. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to, anyways. Too shocked to break away, she just let him kiss her, her arms hanging limply at her sides before resting on his shoulders, his jacket drenched from the rain. For a moment, she let herself pretend that everything was okay between them. The tears that he had always kept to himself ran down his face and into her mouth, the salty taste of them lingering long after he pulled away.

She stared up at him in confusion, about to ask him why before she heard his low whisper, "I got a job offer in Liberty City. That's why I was out last night, to celebrate. I thought that maybe after what happened, you would want me to stay here instead and try to make this work…"

"Michael..." she murmured, eyes going wide in horror.

"...but you don't want that, I get it," he continued. "This is the last time I'll be bothering you. Goodbye, Amanda," he breathed out as he turned around and walked towards his car.

 _Is this really how it ends? All because I didn't care enough to talk to him..._ she wondered. The rain mingled with her tears of frustration and self-pity as he walked away from her, away from her life. Before she knew it, she was walking too, slowly, then faster to beat his pace. She shut the car door as soon as he opened it and stood in front of it before kissing him.

Michael pressed her against the car door with a dull thud as he hungrily deepened the kiss, hands entangling in her wet hair. She pulled him closer, feeling his shoulders slump in relief as they kissed passionately. Their foreheads touched as they pulled apart for air, both breathing heavily.

"You were right," Amanda panted as she moved her hands to his waist, feeling his abdomen tense beneath her.

"About what?" he asked breathlessly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"We are idiots," she muttered regretfully.

He smiled sadly at her, bright eyes shining with drying tears and longing. Those eyes asked her a silent question, one that he couldn't bring himself to ask. "Please stay," she whispered, pulling him in for another kiss.


	9. Sirens

_So, I'm uploading this at two in the morning but I got into a really inspired mood for writing, thus I finished this fic. Like last chapter, it's quite a bit longer. It's set a couple months after Ending C and that's all I'm going to say since I don't want to give anything away! As always, enjoy and review._

* * *

Michael had peacefully been sleeping until a pillow collided with his back. He jolted upright for a moment, alert, before collapsing back down on the bed, realizing that any of his remaining enemies would do much worse than hit him with a pillow. With a sigh, he rolled over, groaning as he grabbed his phone from the nightstand. The bright light burned into his weary eyes as he checked the time, throwing the phone to the side with a half-hearted growl once he saw how late it was. He buried his face into his own pillow, annoyed that his wife had woken him up in the middle of the goddamn night for...what exactly? A chat? "What the hell, Amanda? It's one in the fuckin' mornin'..." he mumbled sleepily into the fabric.

The pillow hit him again and he angrily sat up to face her. Before he could open his mouth to make a snarky comment, Amanda put a finger to his lips, silencing him. "Shh...did you hear that?" she asked softly, tilting her head.

He stared at her in disbelief, his mouth slightly agape. "Hear what? I was asleep-" Michael's sentence was cut short by the unmistakable sound of something breaking.

"See?" Amanda whispered. "Can you go check it out?"

Michael sighed in frustration. He wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but that now seemed impossible. "Honey, relax. It's probably just one of the kids…"

"Jesus, Michael, are you forgetting things already? They said they'd be out late tonight…what if it's a burglar or something? Or one of your many 'friends'?" she said sarcastically as she put exaggerated air quotes around the last word.

"I told you I was done with that life. But if you're really that worried, I'll take a look," he huffed, reluctantly getting up from the bed. For a brief moment, he considered taking the gun he kept under his pillow, but eventually decided against it, thinking that the most he would have to do was a lecture to one of his children.

Armed with nothing but the stubborn belief that he was right, he went to investigate the noises.

* * *

Amanda waited anxiously for Michael to return. Maybe he was right...it could be nothing, she could be freaking out for no reason. On the other hand, what if he wasn't? If there was one thing he was, it was a magnet for trouble, which had certainly proved itself already. She briefly thought back to the night where a mercenary held a gun to her head and felt a shiver run through her.

The situation eerily reminded her of many of the cliché movies her husband loved: strange noises in the middle of the night, the good guy going to check it out, him heroically fighting off the enemy only to get hurt in the process-

 _Bang._

The deafening sound of a gun cut through the air, all but confirming her theories. She barely registered the ringing of her ears, the fact that Michael's gun was still where he left it, or the sound of the front door slamming shut as she ran out of the bedroom.

Clumsily, she managed to find the light switch and turned it on. She blinked quickly, her eyes trying to adjust to the bright light. Finally, she saw him. _No,_ she thought, standing there dumbly. _God, no…_

Reality finally set in as she raced towards him. "Michael!" she screamed in horror. He was slumped against the wall, a pool of blood rapidly expanding around him. Tears blurred her vision and no matter how hard she tried to blink them away, new ones replaced them. "Oh, God...what happened?" Amanda fell to her knees beside him, blood soaking through her clothes as she grabbed one of his hands.

"You...you...were right. Burglar..." Michael murmured, blood… _so much blood_...running through his fingers that were pressed against the gunshot wound on his upper chest in a feeble attempt to slow the bleeding. The smell of iron hung in the air as the dark red pool beneath him grew rapidly. Her eyes went from his wound to his face. His skin was porcelain white and a steady stream of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. His blue eyes that were rapidly dimming with each second were cloudy with what she could only describe as pure agony.

She briefly covered her mouth with her free hand to hold back a tortured sob, nodding absentmindedly to his answer. She knew she was crying and needed to calm down but she couldn't help it. How could a man who had managed to survive through _so much_ be bleeding out right in front of her?

It was then that she noticed that his eyes had started to close and she gave his shoulder a gentle shake to keep him conscious. "Michael, baby...you need to stay awake. I'm going to call for help. I'll be right back...I swear," she added the last part hesitantly because despite the tormenting pain he must have been in, he gripped her hand like a vice. She let go of his hand, her own coming away a glossy red, before reluctantly running to get her phone.

* * *

This was _not_ how Michael thought he would die. A tiny, guilty part of him felt relieved, though. This was so much better than a death he deserved, besides the nearly unbearable pain and the blood that was gushing out of him like a river, of course. All the ways he had pictured either involved him bleeding out in the vault of some bank, rotting in a jail cell for the rest of his days, or maybe, just _maybe_ if he was lucky, dying of old age. Being shot by a _burglar_ , of all people, in his own home was surely something he hadn't considered. He would have laughed at the sheer irony if it weren't for the blood starting to fill his mouth. Maybe his karma had finally caught up to him…

It wasn't like it was his first time getting shot. In his line of work, it was pretty much a given you were going to take a bullet a few times. He'd always been relatively lucky in that regard, the worst that had happened was getting shot in his side once over twenty years ago. The pain he'd experienced then was nothing compared to what he was feeling now. Hopelessness sunk in as he could almost feel the life slipping away from him and became lightheaded at the amount of blood he was losing, hell, even his clothes clung to him with it. He wasn't even entirely sure if the bullet had exited his body, all he had to hope was that it hadn't broken apart inside of him. He resisted the urge to shut his eyes, even if he just wanted to try to blink away the blurry haze his vision had taken on. A mantra repeated in his mind over and over again, those five words stuck on an infinite loop: _I don't want to die...I don't want to die_.

Blood pooled underneath him and he grew more tired with each painful breath that were becoming increasingly harder to gather. By the time that Amanda returned, he was practically gasping for air. She couldn't have been gone for more than a minute or two even though it had seemed like a lifetime to him. He could vaguely hear her calling 911 on her phone but he wasn't listening, not really. His focus was on her face, which he stared at as if he was seeing her for the first, or last, time. He was suddenly struck by her beauty, even though her normally beautiful eyes were red from crying and her hands were stained with his blood. Maybe if he was dying, at least the last thing he ever saw would be her. For a brief moment, snippets of memories surged through his mind, his thoughts reduced to nothing more than a whirlwind filled with images of his wife.

Amanda knelt in front of him, interrupting his daze, one of her trembling hands pressed down on his bullet wound. He couldn't help but note the way his blood cascaded through both of their hands. Michael was only slightly aware of her tears dripping onto him. "T-the ambulance will be here soon," she stuttered and sure enough, he could hear the deafening sounds of sirens growing louder as they neared their house.

The weight of his eyelids was starting to be too much for him to fight and he could feel them starting to drop despite the bright light searing into his retinas. The only things that stopped him from falling into unconsciousness were Amanda's hand gently stroking his cheek and her soothing voice. "Don't you dare fall asleep...fuck...j-just keep your eyes open for a couple more minutes, okay? You're gonna be fine...you're gonna be just fine…" she sounded as if she was trying to convince herself more than him. "I love you, Michael. I love you so much. Please...stay with me," her voice quavered and fresh tears ran down her face.

Determination washed over him as he stared deep into his wife's teary blue eyes. He wanted to tell her how he felt the same and how sorry he was for everything. That his biggest regret in life was cheating on her, that he should have been a better husband and father, that he felt so guilty he hadn't cared enough to repair their relationship at first, that he didn't tell her he loved her enough. It scared him so much to know he might not have another opportunity to say it, but damn it if he needed to...just one last time.

"A... Am-" a weak cough tore through him before he got a chance to finish. _God damn it..._

"Shh...I'm right here, Michael. Just breathe for me, darling," she murmured, holding his head up with her hand, her fingers still absentmindedly caressing his face.

The pleading and desperation in her voice only made him more intent. So he sat up a little straighter, opened his eyes a little wider and managed to find a couple deep breaths. "A…'Manda…" he finally managed to wheeze. He let out another cough before he turned his neck slightly to spit out the red, metallic tasting liquid in his mouth. "I... I love...you."

Michael smirked triumphantly but he knew he couldn't fight it anymore. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted blue and red lights and the sirens were louder than ever. "I'm sorry…" he whispered, his eyelids fluttering. Despite Amanda begging him not to leave her, he finally shut his eyes, letting the memories and darkness consume him.

 _My father beating me and leaving._

 _I can't stop my anger._

 _Learning to shoot my first gun._

 _Going to prison twice in the same year._

 _Robbing my first bank._

 _Meeting Trevor._

 _Drunken flirting with the hottest girl I've ever seen._

 _She says her name is Amanda._

 _We start dating._

 _She tells me she loves me._

 _I love her too._

 _She's pregnant._

 _I propose._

 _We have two kids._

 _I can't die or go to prison._

 _Making a deal._

 _Los Santos._

 _Happiness._

 _Depression._

 _Cheating on her._

 _My life is falling apart._

 _Returning to my old life._

 _She leaves me._

 _Exiled to the desert._

 _Getting tortured._

 _I don't want to die alone._

 _Convincing my family to come back._

 _The big one._

 _Finally retiring._

 _Getting shot, the burglar hauling ass out of there._

 _She tries to keep me awake._

 _I can't._

 _I know I'm dying._

* * *

It had to have been hours since she had sat in the waiting room of the hospital, even though it seemed like only moments ago when her husband was carried out of their house on a stretcher. It had been hours since he'd been taken in for emergency surgery to remove the fragments of the bullet still stuck in his chest. Every time she blinked, she heard that gunshot again, heard his labored breaths as the blood poured from him, saw him shut his eyes and never open them again.

Amanda would have started crying again if she hadn't run out of tears already. Instead, she just sat there, numbly staring at the wall like she had been doing for a couple of hours. The buzzing of her phone from in her pocket jolted her from the moment.

It was almost four in the morning, she noted, not even very shocked. She sighed as she saw more missed text messages from her kids.

" _Where are you?"_

" _Why are there cop cars outside of the house?"_

It was selfish of her when she hadn't immediately told them what had happened, she knew that, but she'd wanted them to live in blissful ignorance for just a little bit longer. She bit her lip as she lifted her phone up to type out a response before seeing the blood still stuck underneath her fingernails. Sighing in frustration, she set the phone down and put her face in her hands. Even after she had changed into clean clothes, there was still blood on her. No matter how much she had washed her hands, the blood - _Michael's blood_ \- still lingered there.

What was she even supposed to say? _Your father's been shot and I don't even know if he's still alive?_ She shook her head, trying to get those dark thoughts out of her mind. With shaking hands, Amanda picked up her phone.

" _I'm at the hospital. There was an accident and your father is in surgery. Get here as soon as you can."_

She stared at the message for a long moment before pressing send. With a sad sigh, she leaned back in the uncomfortable chair and shut her eyes. _This is gonna be a long night…_

It had been over three days and he still hadn't woken up. The doctors told her how lucky he was after his surgery was done, how if the bullet had gone just a centimeter to the left it would have pierced his heart. They told her that it was only a matter of time before he woke up.

Her days had devolved into a routine: wake up, go see Michael, go home, try to sleep, and repeat. Amanda could only hope that it didn't last much longer.

The kids had been there almost as much as she had, Franklin had visited a few times, even Trevor had stopped by. "Eh, he's a tough old bastard, he'll be fine," Trevor had said to her the day before.

She gazed over at him, body still except for the steady rise and fall of his chest. His skin was still ashen and the stubble on his face was a bit thicker than usual but he was alive.

Her eyes tore away from him for a second only to check the time. "It's getting late," she said, causing the kids to look up from their phones. "You two should get going."

"It's not even that late! We can totally stay a while longer," Tracey pouted.

"Yeah, I can stay, too," Jimmy agreed.

Amanda smiled weakly at them. "Go. You're young, you have lives. I'll just text you if anything changes."

They left and despite their protests, she could tell that they were relieved to escape the misery of the hospital. She turned back to Michael, interlacing her fingers with his stiff ones. "They really are worried about you…" she said quietly, thumb running across his wedding ring. "They love you so much, Michael. I love you so much…" Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. "God, you better wake up soon…" she murmured tiredly.

* * *

The first thing he noticed when he opened his eyes was the overwhelming bright light practically blinding him. He looked down at himself, expecting to see red clothes and a pool of blood underneath him, only to see the needles in his arm and the hospital gown he was in. Michael instinctively tried to sit up before feeling a searing pain in his chest.

"Oh, fuck…" he growled as he clutched at the wound, eyes widening when the memories of what had happened surged back to him. _The burglar, that gunshot, Amanda…_

He noticed a weight on his hand and looked to his left, smiling when he saw a familiar head of dark brown hair resting on the edge of the bed, saw her finger resting on his wedding ring.

With his shaking free hand, he reached over and gently brushed the hair away from her face, needing the reassurance that this was real. Amanda began to stir, a small sigh escaping her as her eyes fluttered open. "Hey…" he said softly, gently squeezing her hand.

She shot awake instantly, tears of joy already falling from her eyes. "Oh my God, you're awake…" she sobbed, getting up to hug him.

"Ah...easy on my chest, babe," Michael said when she held him tightly, voice strained with pain.

"Sorry," she laughed, brushing away her tears. "I'm just so glad that you're okay."

He pulled her closer, burying his head into her shoulder. "How bad was it?" he whispered.

Her face fell, eyes darkening as if recalling some horrible memory. "While you were in surgery, your...you…" she had started crying too much to finish the sentence.

"Hey, baby, it's okay, I'm okay," he said soothingly, calmly stroking her hair. "Just tell me what happened."

"Your heart stopped…" she managed to get out. He sat there, too shocked to say anything, as she cried.

"Amanda, it's fine," he gently grabbed her hand and placed it over his thumping heart. "It's working now. See?"

She nodded, wiping away the streaks of makeup on her face. "Babe, you look like shit," he said when he saw the dark circles under her eyes.

"You're not looking too good yourself," she began in a defensive tone.

"I didn't mean it like that. Have you slept at all since what happened?" he asked, concerned.

"I tried to...believe me, I tried," she muttered. "I mean, the first night was your surgery and then I had to tell the kids what happened...I just couldn't, okay?"

"Okay…how long was I out?" he asked, finally managing to pull himself up into a sitting position.

"Three days," she admitted quietly.

He nodded thoughtfully. "When I said that I wanted to get more sleep, this is not what I meant," he said with a chuckle, earning a small laugh from her.

A contemplative look crossed her face. "I did a lot of thinking while you were asleep."

"That sounds ominous…." Michael said nervously.

"No, not at all. I was thinking about us."

"And?" he prompted

"I just thought about how far we've come," she started. "I know it's only been a couple of months but when you were in that ambulance, I realized how happy we've been and how much I didn't wanna lose it."

"That's nice, sweetheart," he smiled down at her.

"And how much you've changed…" she continued.

"Ah, maybe a bit."

"Well, you're a good man."

He chuckled. "I wouldn't go that far."

"Well, you're mine. My man. Good, bad, or indifferent, you're mine," Amanda said teasingly.

His fingers moved to gently intertwine with hers. "Indifferent and all yours, baby."

"Perfect."

"Y'know, I thought about some things, too…" he said.

"Oh, really?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, I did…" a small shiver ran through him at the memory of thinking that he was as good as dead. "I just...I _knew_ that I'd been a terrible father...and husband. I thought that I wouldn't have a chance to finish fixing that."

She leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. "You did get a chance, though. We're not perfect, Michael. But at least we're both trying. It'll take some time, but we'll be okay."

"There's something else that I need to work on…" he trailed off, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"And what's that?"

"This," he said as he pulled her in for another kiss. "I love you, Amanda."

"I could get used to more of that," she smirked at him lovingly. "I love you, too, darling."


	10. A Deal

_Back with another long update! I've had this idea for some time but never had an idea of executing it until recently. It's set in North Yankton about 10 years before the start of the game and unsurprisingly involves Michael getting into some trouble. Enjoy!_

* * *

"You better come home to me, Michael Townley," she whispered as she rested her hands on his chest. The kids were asleep, giving them some rare, much needed alone time

"Relax, babe," he muttered lazily, lips trailing along her neck. "It'll be an easy job and I'll only be gone for a day or two."

"You always say that…" Amanda said under her breath.

"And I mean it every time. I wouldn't have even done this job if I didn't wanna have some extra cash," his hand gently sifted through her hair, wedding ring cool against the nape of her neck.

"I know that. I just get worried whenever you go out with them." There was an underlying bitterness to her tone that seemed to imply that she didn't mean just "them".

"You and Trevor don't get along, I get that," Michael said. "But he's my best friend, he loves the kids in some weird way, and that crazy bastard can hold it together in a score."

She sighed in defeat. "Fine, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. It doesn't mean that I like him, though."

"Oh, I don't think you ever will. It's a start, at least." he chuckled while pressing a kiss to her lips. "Baby, you know that I'd love to go for round two but I have to leave early tomorrow," he said when she moved to straddle him.

"Worth a shot," she smirked, laying back down. "Good night, darling."

He pulled her closer, "Night, sweetheart."

* * *

"Gentlemen, the plan is simple, so simple that even you brawny idiots can't screw it up," Lester said smugly, superiority dripping from his voice. "Michael here has decided that he is bored of actually going into the bank so Trevor, Brad, and the gunman will grab the money while he goes up to the roof and puts some knockout gas in the vents. I'll shut off the lights so he can make it up there without being spotted. You," he said, looking at the driver, "will be outside the bank, waiting with the car."

"Any questions? Last minute regrets?" Michael asked the crew. Silence answered the question. "No? Let's go."

"Yeah, let's go, you damn softie," Trevor walked up beside him. "With every job we do, you get even more soft. What happened to leaving that kind of work to the other guys?"

"I didn't know that being careful was a bad thing," Michael laughed under his breath. "Besides, sometimes I get tired of using my famous way with people."

"Whatever helps your fragile mind sleep at night, Mike," Trevor brushed past him, a hint of anger marking his voice.

Michael just set his jaw angrily and pulled his bandana up over his face. "Let's just get this over with."

* * *

"Storm's coming," Trevor grunted in distaste at the low rumble of thunder in the distance.

Michael stared out of the tinted windows of the van, looking at the darkening sky. "Well, that makes my job easier," he said.

Still, he couldn't shake the ominous feeling of the changing weather. He glanced down to the silenced pistol in his hand, glad that he had suggested the stealthy approach. He would never admit it to Trevor, but with the more jobs he did, the more regret he felt with the people he had to kill. He holstered the gun, sighing. Maybe one day he could quit that line of work.

* * *

At first, everything had gone according to plan. Michael had thrown the knockout gas into the vents while the others cracked the safe, no one having to fire a single bullet. That was until one of the night guards had stumbled onto the scene and hit his panic button, causing half of the North Yankton police department to come rushing to the bank.

"M!" Trevor called over the radio. "How are things on your end?"

"Oh, just _fabulous_!" Michael had to yell over the deafening thunderstorm. He ran across the rooftops away from the officers that had seen him up there, pausing only to fire a few bullets behind him.

"Look, just get your ass down here! As soon as we finish off these cops in the front, we're leaving."

The ground was practically an oil slick with the amount of water covering it. Freezing rain poured over his head, soaking him. "Yeah, okay-" he started, teeth chattering from the cold, before a sharp bang cut him off. He staggered, nearly falling over at the sudden pain. Fiery pain ran through his side, his hands instinctively moving there to see the damage. "Oh, shit…" he whispered to himself when he saw the shiny red liquid covering his hands.

"You okay, M?" Trevor's voice sounded almost concerned through the radio.

"Yeah, yeah I'm good. Just a graze…" he said, trying to convince himself more than Trevor. He tried to push aside the unbearable pain and blood gushing from his side but he started to slow down, his pace faltering every few steps.

It was too dark and too rainy to see the edge of the roof until it was too late. Just as he had moved to back away from it, he slipped on the inclined part of the roof. Michael desperately tried to slow the fall, failing to find any handhold or ledge that wasn't slippery with rain. The incline eventually gave way, causing him to fall into a three-story high drop.

It was then, with him hovering between life and death, that the universe decided to remind him of all of his mistakes. It reminded him of all the people he killed, all of the potential that he had wasted. It reminded him of his wife and kids waiting for him at home.

 _Stupid way to die…_

It was jarring when he finally hit the ground feet first, after what had seemed like a lifetime of falling. A loud crack sounding through his body was the only thing that his ears registered above the thunder and police sirens. Water rushed into his eyes and mouth as he fell face first into the mud. Adrenaline coursed through his veins for a few more moments with the realization that he hadn't died.

The illusion that he was okay shattered when the adrenaline faded away, revealing the excruciating torture enveloping him. The hot pain ran all the way from his leg to the bullet wound in his side. He managed to peel himself away from the dirt to roll over onto his back. He barely had enough energy to raise his head and stare at his leg, bent at an unnatural angle. "Fuck…" he muttered, an involuntary whimper of pain coming from his lips.

The rumble of the thunder overhead drowned out his cry of agony and frustration when he stubbornly tried to stand up. He helplessly fell onto his back in the mud and stared up at the pouring rain. He couldn't do it, over ten years of experience robbing banks and the thing that would do him in would be a broken leg. Lightning shot through the sky above him, blinding him for a moment. The faint crackle of the radio at his belt brought him back from his tormenting world of pain.

"Mike fell!" he heard Trevor shout through it. "I'm gonna go get him!"

"Leave him! Idiot probably broke his goddamn neck!" Brad yelled.

Michael's shaky hands, slippery with his own blood, grabbed the radio. "Just my leg," he said, in too much pain to be annoyed at the other man.

"You only have a few minutes before the cops overrun you and the driver leaves without you," Lester's voice joined in on the radio.

"I-I'm in an alley next to the bank. N-no cops here…" he managed to breath out, words choked with pain.

"Alright, just stay put, Mikey," Trevor said.

"W-what else am I gonna do?" a small laugh escaped him.

It had seemed like an eternity before his friend finally found him. "Let's get you outta here," Trevor pulled him up. Michael tried to get his useless leg beneath him, nearly falling over a few times. "Oh, for fuck's sakes!" Trevor exclaimed before lifting him up and hefting him over his shoulder. Despite the added weight of the other man, he ran just as fast.

"T... if I don't…" Michael started, coughing in between words.

"Stop," Trevor cut him off angrily.

Michael ignored him, continuing to quietly babble underneath his breath, barely audible over the rain, "Tell Amanda that I-"

"Shut up!" Trevor yelled, annoyed. "You're not gonna die and if you do, I'm gonna fucking kill you!"

"T…" he said again, voice growing more urgent.

A low growl started in Trevor's throat. "Whatever you need to tell your little lady, tell her in person!"

"Behind...you," Michael finally got out, reaching into his holster and pulling out his gun, quickly shooting the cop that had almost pulled the trigger.

Trevor glanced over his shoulder at the dead cop. "Shit...thanks for the returning the favor, I guess."

Michael just nodded wearily. He pressed his hand against his side, trying to staunch the bleeding. Despite all of his efforts to stay awake, he could feel his eyes starting to shut.

His friend seemed to sense that. "Hey, keep talking, you stubborn bastard. We're almost there. Tell me about the Big One," Trevor said breathlessly.

"...'kay," Michael murmured. "Los Santos… the Union Depository…"

"And how much money does it have?"

"Four hundred million…"

"Yeah, enough to keep me on crystal and your kids in school!" Trevor exclaimed gleefully, earning a chuckle from the injured man slung over his shoulder. "And we're here! Don't worry, Lester already told your wife what happened!" he said as put him in the back of the van.

"God, she's gonna kill me…" was the last thing Michael said before he passed out. Just before he fell into unconsciousness, he wondered if he would wake up this time around.

* * *

"Where is he?" Amanda asked frantically as she burst through the door and nearly ran into Trevor.

"Nice to see you, too," Trevor grunted sarcastically, earning a glare from her. That glare quickly faded when she saw the amount of blood covering his jacket, no doubt from her husband. Trevor sighed in annoyance at her concern. "He's in here," he said, opening the door to another room.

Her jaw fell open when she saw him. "You _idiot_ …" she muttered, rushing over to him. His clothes were wet and cold with blood and rainwater, his hand resting over the gunshot wound in his side. The upper part of his face that wasn't covered by his bandana looked pale and lifeless. His hair was slick with mud, water, and sweat. Tears filled her eyes when her gaze traveled to his leg. "Can you explain _this_?" she asked angrily, gesturing to his leg, which was bent at nearly a ninety-degree angle from the rest of him.

Trevor shrugged. "He took the easy job."

She stared at Michael's unconscious form in disbelief, wondering how this could have happened if it was the _easy job._ "What is that supposed to mean?!"

"He went up to the roof to pump some knockout gas into the vents. Cops saw him up there and shot him when everything went to shit. He fell off trying to get away from 'em," he explained.

"Oh…" she whispered, unable to form any other words.

"He, uh, lost a shit ton of blood, but we stopped it before you got here," Trevor scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Our doctor friend should be here soon to patch him up."

Amanda nodded and wiped the tears from her eyes. "Okay…and, um, thank you, Trevor."

He smirked at her, obviously satisfied. "Been waitin' to hear that for a while."

* * *

A cold sweat covered Michael's body as he shot awake in a panic. Panting, he sat up while trying to calm himself down after another recurring nightmare, barely noticing the chafing in his leg or the burning pain in his side. He glanced down at himself, seeing the bandages around his torso and the cast wrapped around his leg for the first time.

The memories of what had happened came rushing back to him. He groaned and put his head in his hands. He swore that he could feel the icy rain pouring down on him, could feel the blood pouring through his fingers and the agony of what felt like broken glass being shoved into his leg.

Finally, he registered the muffled arguing coming from outside of the room he was in, quickly followed by Amanda storming into the room, face red with anger, Trevor close behind her.

"Welcome back to the world of the living. You sure do like them feisty, Mikey," Trevor snapped with a pointed glare at Amanda, who just glared right back.

"I always have, T," Michael chuckled. "Thanks for getting me outta there, by the way."

"I swear, you're like a damsel in distress!" Trevor said dramatically. "I'm always saving your ass!"

"I can think of a few times where I had to save yours-" Michael started in a defensive tone.

Amanda interrupted him before he went into some long story about all of their misadventures. "Trevor, him and I need to talk. Can you give us a minute?"

Trevor looked them up and down in disgust. "Oh, God, already? Try to keep it down, will you?" he asked as he slowly walked out of the room.

Michael rolled his eyes before he looked back at his wife. "Hey…" he said nervously. To his surprise, she didn't start yelling at him and instead immediately hugged him.

"You're so _stupid_ …" she whispered, tears running down her face. Her shaky hand reached over to smooth the damp hair away from his forehead. "The doctor told me you could have broken your neck!"

"Sorry…" he muttered regretfully.

She blinked back her tears. "Don't be. I've just been worried."

"How long was I out…?"

"Just overnight. The kids are with my mother," she said when she noticed him start to look around. "I didn't want them to see you like this…"

"Neither do I…" he nodded. "What were you and Trevor arguing about?"

"I told him that you can't be doing this forever. Then he went on about how I'm giving you 'an illusion of a picket fence life' and how you're going soft and all of that shit."

Michael sighed sadly. "He doesn't get it, Amanda. He doesn't have ties of his own."

"I know...but please don't tell me that you agree with him." Desperation creeped into her voice. "Yeah, you've had some close calls and gotten into a few fights, but this was different, Michael! Even if you hadn't fallen, you could have bled out!"

"Believe me, I wanna get out of this shit just as much as you want me to. I just...I don't know how." He ran his hands down his face, trying to think of any way to get himself out of this mess. "I mean, it's not like I can get a real job and we can't just pack up and move."

Her blue eyes, shiny with tears, stared up into his pleadingly. "We can't do this much longer, Michael…"

He pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I know, baby…"

* * *

Michael shifted uncomfortably on the couch. It had been two weeks but the cast still chafed against his leg. He was vaguely aware of his kids drawing on the cast. A small smile crossed his face at the moment that he knew wouldn't last.

"Daddy?" Tracey asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, sweetie?" he asked.

She looked down, a frown on her face. "What happened?"

The smile faded from his face. "I fell down some stairs," the lie came effortlessly out of his mouth.

"You're clumsy…" she muttered unsurely, earning a laugh from Amanda.

"Yeah, your mother likes to remind me about that," he said with a smirk. He could tell that his daughter didn't completely believe him, though. She was almost a teenager and was starting to grasp of what he did for a living. "Anyway, I need to go out and do some things. I'll be back soon," he said, getting his crutches beneath him and standing up.

"Where are you going?" Amanda asked softly, pulling him aside.

"I'm going nuts being cooped in here, babe. It's already been a couple of weeks, I should be fine," he whispered. "I'm just gonna go and grab a couple of drinks, it'll be only a few hours."

"Fine…" she sighed and pressed a quick kiss against his cheek. "Just be careful, okay?"

He grinned at her. "Relax, I always am. I'll see you later."

* * *

Michael sat at the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey. It felt nice to have something to take the edge off, he had to admit. He glanced over at the man next to him, who seemed to be well on his way to getting drunk.

"God, I hate my job…" the man said with a sigh.

"Me too…that's how I got this," Michael said with a chuckle, gesturing to his leg. "What do you do?"

"Government work."

"So, paperwork and shit?" Michael asked.

"I wish," the other man replied bitterly. "FIB. I shouldn't be telling you that but I'm probably gonna get fired anyways."

Michael immediately became alert. "What are the FIB doing in this shit hole of a town?"

"I'm looking for the robbers who got that bank two weeks ago. Haven't found a thing yet. Name's Dave, by the way."

"Michael. I heard about that bank," the thief said casually. "So, why are you gonna get fired?"

"My boss thinks that I'm not worth the effort if I can't find some 'small town, low-life thieves'," he said, putting air quotes around the last part.

"FIB, huh?" Michael said thoughtfully. A smirk crossed his face as an idea formed in his mind. "I think I've got a deal for you, Dave…"


	11. Invincible

_Bit of a later update than usual. I've been a bit sick lately so I haven't had much energy to write so I just decided to upload a chapter I already had done. There may be a Valentine's Day update next week, probably on Wednesday or Thursday. I've seen stories of Michael's torture on here before, but I wanted to put a little spin on it myself._

 _Just a few more steps,_ Michael thought hazily as he trudged his way up the stairs, vaguely aware of the blood pouring from him with every movement he made. A couple hours ago, he thought he would have met his end at the meat grinder he'd been slowly sent towards. In hindsight, he realized he hadn't considered what would happen to him if he did escape.

He audibly sighed in relief when he reached the top of the staircase, regretting it instantly as his ribs screamed in pain. His vision started to blacken around the edges as he stumbled towards his bedroom. It seemed like an eternity before he finally reached the door. Blinking back the darkness, he reached for the doorknob, failing to recognize that his hands were slick with his own blood. Cursing in frustration, he tried to open it with no success.

He turned around and leaned against the door with a sigh. Apparently, he'd meet his end because of a goddamn door. He slid onto the floor, his legs finally giving out from underneath him. He pressed his hand against the stab wound on his stomach, biting back a cry of pain.

It was a pathetic way to die, he knew. Nobody would even find him for a few days, minimum. Nobody would really even care that he was dead, anyways, he thought with a bitter chuckle. Michael didn't even try to fight his eyes from shutting as he descended into unconsciousness.

* * *

The papers felt like a weight in her hand as she walked towards the front door. Amanda bit her lip nervously, realizing the irony of the situation. The first time she'd see her husband in months was to give him divorce papers. She wasn't even entirely sure he was home; his car wasn't in the driveway but the front lights were on. In all honesty, she kind of hoped that he wouldn't be home.

It wasn't as if she even really wanted a divorce. She had wanted their marriage to work so badly, but after everything that had happened, it seemed impossible. _He doesn't love you anymore, get over it_ , a tiny voice in her head said. Getting the papers had been more of a pride thing than anything. Maybe he'd change his mind and say that he wanted to try to make things work...

To her surprise, the door opened without even needing to be unlocked. _It's fine, he always forgets to lock it,_ she tried to shake off her nervousness as she stepped inside.

Her eyes widened in shock when she saw the amount of blood covering the floor. "Michael?" she called out hesitantly, voice shaking. Only silence answered her. Her gaze ran along the bloodstains that went all of the way up the stairs. Without thinking, she ran up the stairs, following what she realized was a trail of blood. Finally, she saw the beaten, broken form of her husband.

Amanda immediately dropped the papers as she rushed over to him. "Michael!" she exclaimed as she dropped down to her knees. He was propped against the door, clothes soaked in red, face pale and lifeless. Her trembling fingers found the side of his neck. The feeling she got when she felt a weak pulse couldn't compare to any other moment of happiness she had before in her life. "Michael, please wake up," her voice was desperate as she shook one of his shoulders,

The only response she got was a strangled groan. She held his head up with one of her hands, tilting it up so she could see him up close. Horror filled her as she saw the dark bruises covering his cheeks and jaw, the blood pouring out of the many cuts on his face. A pool of blood grew below him and she suspected that it wasn't from the cuts. Tears filled her eyes at the sight. "Oh, God...what happened to you?"

She took a deep breath, trying to steady her emotions, "You need to get up...we need to stop this bleeding." His features twisted into a grimace as he started to stir. "There you go...open those eyes," she said soothingly.

Michael's eyelids slowly fluttered open. He jolted in surprise when he realized that it was her. "...'Manda? Wha- what're you doing here?" he murmured, looking up at her with bloodshot eyes. His gaze shifted from her to the divorce papers beside her, expression shifting from confusion to pure sadness. "Fuck…" he whispered as he threw his head back against the door, voice cracking.

Amanda wiped away her tears. "We can talk about that later, okay? Let's just get you cleaned up first," she said, offering him her hand. He only made it about halfway to his feet before he collapsed, a pained cry coming from his lips. "I'm so sorry, Michael-" she started, staring at him writhing in agony on the floor. His hand was pressed against his stomach, blood flowing from between his fingers.

"No, it's fine," he breathed out, still trying to get his legs under him. "Jus' not as young as I used to be."

Eventually, she managed to get him up, struggling against his weight. "Michael, I can't get you into the bathroom by myself. Just stand up for a couple of minutes," she pleaded breathlessly.

He nodded, a determined look crossing his beaten face. A sigh of relief escaped her when he leaned against the wall and stood up straighter. She opened their bedroom door, acutely aware of the dried blood covering the doorknob. A pang of guilt ran through her when she noticed him staring longingly at their wedding picture on the floor, surrounded by the broken glass of the frame. They wordlessly moved through the bedroom and the closet and finally into their bathroom.

Michael immediately sat down on the toilet and put his head in his hands, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. "Goddamn…" he muttered as he clutched his head.

"I'm guessing going to the hospital is out of the question?" Amanda asked while pulling out the first aid kid.

He shook his head. "You know we can't do that," his voice was raspy and she couldn't help but think about how she had never heard him sound so helpless before.

She sighed. _It was worth a shot_. "I'll be right back," she said, starting to go towards the door.

"Wait...where are you going?" he asked in a panicked tone, moving to get up.

"Sit back down, I'm just gonna go get you something to drink," she reassured him.

He looked at her in suspicion for a moment before relaxing a bit. A little bit of her heart broke at that look. After all, what reason did he have to trust her anymore? She had already left him once.

She quickly walked out of the room and down the stairs, careful to avoid the bloodstains. Her eyes widened when she saw how messy the rest of the house was. The kitchen and living room were littered with empty beer and whiskey bottles, junk food scattered everywhere.

Trying to ignore that, she opened the fridge, pushing aside all of alcohol before successfully finding a bottle of water.

Before long, she was back, smirking as she handed it to him. "See? I told you I'd be right back."

A semblance of his usual cocky smirk formed on his face at the comment. He slowly got up and walked over to the sink while taking a swig. He spat out the water into the sink, the liquid dark red from the cuts in his mouth. The process repeated until most of the blood was gone. Michael swiftly drank the rest, looking slightly better by the time he finished. "So now what?" he asked.

She frowned down at his red clothes, at the still-bleeding cuts on his body. "We need to take care of that bleeding. You can lift your arms, right?"

"I guess we'll see…" he muttered in a thoughtful tone. He managed to lift them until they were straight out in front of him. "Uh, I think that's 'bout it," he said, voice strained with effort.

"That's fine," she said soothingly and started working to pull his tank top off of his head. After a few minutes of struggling, she finally managed to get it off.

Amanda's jaw fell open when she saw his injuries. Multiple stab wounds ran along his body and fist-sized bruises covered his torso. The deepest gash was on his stomach and was still pouring blood. "What happened?!" she asked angrily.

"A fight," he mumbled weakly, staring at the floor.

"I'm not an idiot, Michael," she said harshly, tears of frustration running down her face. "You don't get stabbed over five times in 'a fight'! God...your ribs are probably broken, too, and you won't let me take you to the hospital! You're not invincible, you know!"

"I know. I'll be fine, Amanda, you know that I've been through worse." He sighed and ran a hand through his matted hair. "Look, I got into an argument and then some assholes came and jumped me. That's it."

"I don't think that that's the whole story, but I guess that's all you're gonna tell me," she admitted sadly, wiping away her tears before starting to clean out the wound. Fortunately, it wasn't as deep as she had thought, despite all of the bleeding. She carefully bandaged it before working on the smaller cuts. After that, she gently wrapped them around his ribs, wincing when she heard his sharp intake of breath as she tightened it. "I'm sorry…"

"Don't be...it's just kinda sore," he said, smiling at her reassuringly. "You're doing great."

Finally, she moved onto his face, cautiously putting bandages on the larger cuts and cleaning out the smaller ones. "Okay, that's that," she muttered, putting the first aid kit away.

Michael sighed in relief and tiredness and got up as if to go back into the bedroom before she stood in front of him. "Wha-?" he started.

"We're not done yet. I want you to take a shower," Amanda said.

"Can't I just do that tomorrow?" he asked, voice almost pleading.

"Michael, you're still covered in blood. You'll feel a lot better after you do it, anyways."

"Okay…" he agreed, staggering to the shower. He almost fell, having to use the sink to steady himself.

"Shit…" she muttered under her breath as she walked over to him. "You sure you can do this?"

"Yeah...jus' give me a second," he nodded, blinking heavily, still not making any more movement.

Exasperated, she undid his belt, his eyebrows shooting up at her sudden action. Wordlessly, she tugged at his zipper and stared up at him expectantly. "Am I gonna have to do all the work?" she asked teasingly.

Finally, he got the hint and kicked off his shoes before undoing the zipper of his pants. She had to steady him as he nearly fell over at the action of taking off his pants.

 _He can't do this by himself,_ she realized. Either she'd let him fall asleep in his own blood and risk his injuries getting infected…or she had to put aside all of her conflicting emotions towards her husband and get in with him. "Fuck it…" she said as she turned around and pulled her own shirt off.

"Uh…" Michael stuttered from behind her.

"I'm getting in with you since you can't stand by yourself for a minute, let alone ten," she informed him while she undid her bra.

"Oh, we haven't done that in a long time…" he said quietly.

Instead of making some snarky comment about why they hadn't done that in a long time, she just continued undressing. By the time that she had finished, Michael was done and leaning over sink, half-asleep again.

A blush spread up her cheeks when she saw him turn his head and stare at her, eyes filled with something between sadness and longing. She had to resist the urge to cross her arms over her chest as she walked over to the shower and turned the water on.

Michael barely even checked the water before stepping in, mumbling about all of his aching injuries. His tall frame was hunched beneath the warm downpour of water, almost looking smaller than usual.

She got in after him, shivering at the temperature change. The shower was big but with Michael leaning heavily against the wall and her having to make sure that he didn't fall asleep or collapse again, it seemed tiny. Since he couldn't move without causing himself further pain, she grabbed the soap and rubbed it into a washcloth, setting about to remove the dried blood stuck to his skin.

It was a task that was easier said than done. She had to avoid his bandaged wounds, had to try to not scrub too hard at the cuts and bruises that adorned his body. It was difficult to not wonder about what had happened to him, what had happened to _them_ to end up here, in their shower with him almost beaten to death and her with divorce papers waiting outside the bedroom.

Dark pink water slowly went down the drain, getting lighter the more she cleaned him up. When she turned him around to get his face, he looked considerably more alert and awake, hands resting on her waist for support. Amanda gently wiped the blood away from his jaw and cheeks, not able to meet his piercing gaze.

A frown crossed her face when she looked up at his hair, still matted and dirty. She grabbed the shampoo and scrubbed it into his hair, slowly feeling his hair soften between her hands as the blood rinsed out. Even after she had finished, her fingers lingered there.

Michael's hand shook as he reached over and brushed the wet locks of hair from her face. "Amanda…" he murmured and moved closer to her, lips practically touching hers.

"Y-yeah…?" she said shakily, voice nearly a whisper.

"I wanna say thanks. Y'know, for savin' me," he smiled at her almost hesitantly.

"You don't have to thank me. I'm just glad that you're okay," she smiled back.

He leaned in further and _I really should stop him..._ but she just wrapped her arms around his neck and _pulled_ him in, for God's sake.

The kiss was soft and slow and everything she'd imagined it'd be like on the days where she'd been too sad to be angry at him. Things weren't okay and this didn't erase all of their problems, but they were together and he was actually _wanting_ this.

Michael broke away first, only because his breathing had started getting painful. "I know you said I didn't have to thank you, but…" he started with a crooked smirk.

"You are the corniest man," Amanda laughed.

He chuckled and pulled her close to his chest. "I'm sorry…" he whispered into her ear sadly, voice almost inaudible over the sound of the shower.

"I know, darling," she murmured, stroking his hair. "I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have just left when things got bad. Maybe if I'd been here before this happened-"

Water dripped off of his face as he shook his head. "I'm glad you weren't. I dunno what I'd have done if something happened to you or the kids instead of me."

She just nodded, knowing how much he'd blame himself if her or the kids got hurt. "Well, I think that's about it," she said, reaching over and turning the water off. She got out and quickly tossed him a towel. "Go get dressed and get in bed, I'll be there in a bit."

"You sure you don't need my help drying off or anything?" he grinned at her flirtatiously as he ran a towel through his hair.

"If anything, _you_ need the help. Just go do it, smartass," she demanded teasingly.

"Fine…" he drawled out lazily, drying himself off before wrapping the towel around his waist and walking back into the bedroom.

A small smirk crossed her face as she watched him leave. At least that cocky attitude was still there. She quickly dried herself off and looked in the mirror, frowning at her ruined makeup. Sighing, she wiped it off and tied her damp hair back into a messy bun.

As soon as she went back into the closet, it struck her just how little clothes she had left there after she had left. "You can just wear one of my old shirts," Michael called out from the bed.

She nodded and stepped out of his line of sight before letting the towel wrapped around her fall, giggling at his long sigh. She found one of his t-shirts and a pair of boxers and put them on. The shirt hung off of her like a tent but it was soft and had his distinctive smell of smoke and aftershave.

"Looks better on you than on me," he commented when she walked into the room. His voice was soft, almost hesitant, when he asked, "Amanda...can you stay?"

She stared at him in shock as she got under the covers. "You think I was gonna leave you here alone after what had happened to you?"

He shrugged with no response. "I guess you want me to sign these, huh?" he asked, staring at the divorce papers he'd taken from where she had dropped them.

"No," she said, taking them from his hands and promptly throwing them in the trash. "Not at all." Carefully, she took his cheeks in her hands and pressed a tender kiss to his lips, chapped and still tasting of blood against her own soft ones.

"Why'd you…?" he started in confusion.

"It was stupid," she admitted. "I wasn't thinking straight when I got those. I tried to convince myself that I hated you for everything that happened...but I never could hate you, Michael. Believe me, I wish I could," she laughed under her breath.

Michael nodded. "I wouldn't blame you if you did..." he said quietly.

"I know," she whispered.

He pressed his nose into the top of her head, sighing. "So... what happens now?" he mumbled into her hair.

"Now we think about things," her voice shook slightly, her eyes staring up at the ceiling.

Bruised but strong arms gently wrapped around her midsection. "Like what?" he asked in a low voice.

"Where we go from here," she said simply.

"Come back home," he pleaded tiredly. "I had some time to think about a lot of things when this thing happened. And when you found me… I just knew that I couldn't let you leave again."

"I want that, Michael…" Amanda agreed. "I want to give our relationship another try. Let's face it: you and I are stuck with each other. It's been that way for a long time and that's not gonna change anytime soon."

"Yeah, it won't" he smiled slightly. "I love you, you know that, right?"

"I do…" she murmured. Her hand slowly wandered over to his chest, feeling his heart thump beneath his shirt and all of the bandages wrapped around him. It was the only thing that could reassure her that he was okay, battered and tortured but _alive_. She hated to think about what would have happened if she hadn't found him, hated to think about how he felt while lying there alone and helpless for who knows how long. It would take a while for them to even be somewhat like they used to be, but they'd get there. "I love you, too."


	12. Popping the Question

_Happy Valentine's Day! I feel like the last few updates have been a little dark so Valentine's Day gave me a good opportunity to write something happier. This chapter is also a lot shorter than usual, mostly because I couldn't figure out any other way to make it longer. Enjoy Michael proposing to Amanda!_

* * *

"Hey, babe, it's not that late yet, wanna go for a walk?" Michael asked, gesturing to the park at the end of the block.

Amanda's eyes brightened at his question. They had just gone out for dinner and neither of them were quite ready to end the night just yet. "Sure," she said. She wrapped her arm around his and nuzzled up against him. "This is nice. I feel like we haven't spent this much time together in forever…"

"Yeah, I've probably been working a bit more than I should lately," he chuckled as he led her into the park. In typical North Yankton fashion, it had snowed the previous night, leaving a thick layer of snow and ice over their small town. Despite all of the snow, the weather actually wasn't that cold. The stars shined above them, illuminating the snowflakes still falling from the trees. He looked up at the sky, not noticing that Amanda wasn't cuddling against his arm anymore.

The next thing he knew, a snowball hit him in the back of the head and his girlfriend ran off deeper into the park, laughing her ass off. "Oh, so it's gonna be like that?" he asked, frowning as he brushed the snow off of himself.

"Yeah, it is! You need to learn to have _fun_ , darling!" she yelled.

"I know how to have fun…" he muttered to himself. He bent down to make his own snowball just as another snowball hit the spot where his head had been only a few seconds ago. A small smirk formed on his face at Amanda's muffled, "Damn it…" in the distance.

The snowball fight was a nice distraction from the ring that was practically burning a hole in his pocket. Throughout the night, he'd tried and failed to find a good time to propose to her, either because the timing wasn't right or because of his nervousness. It was rare for him to be nervous, but Amanda did that to him and tonight wasn't an exception.

It had been three weeks since she told him that she was pregnant. He had gone out to look for rings the day afterward, ironically using money he'd stolen from a jewelry store to buy a pretty impressive engagement ring, if he did say so himself. It'd be hard raising a kid with their lifestyles, but he was confident that they'd make it work. Michael knew that it was just a matter of time before they got married anyways, so why not do it sooner rather than later?

His moment of thinking was shattered by a call of, "Oh, Michael…" and a snowball hitting him directly in the back.

"I'm gonna get you for that!" he said as he turned around, tossing his own projectile at her. Much to his frustration and embarrassment, it missed.

"I thought you used to be good at football, babe?" Amanda asked in a faux innocent tone from behind her hiding spot.

"Yeah, not baseball or whatever the shit this is like!" Michael called back. He spotted her as she moved to a different spot, his snowball managing to hit her in the shoulder.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, darling," she said with a giggle.

"I have to go easy on you, too!" he reminded her.

"'Oh no, my name is Michael and I can't accept that my girlfriend is kicking my ass in a snowball fight! I'm gonna use her pregnancy as an excuse so my fragile masculinity isn't hurt!'" she put on a deep voice in imitation of him. "Nice try, Michael."

Michael rolled his eyes as he got up to move, doing his best to stay behind the trees. He hesitantly stepped out into the open for a moment to grab a snowball, unaware of the slick ice beneath his feet.

They caught sight of each other and threw their snowballs at the same time. His barely grazed her arm while hers hit him square in the face. The force of the snowball combined with the slippery ice knocked him into his back into a snowbank.

Amanda immediately rushed over to him. "I'm sorry, Michael! I wasn't even aiming for your head! Shit, are you okay?"

"Yeah…the snow broke my fall," he muttered, sitting up. He wiped the snow away from his eyes, wincing at his stinging face. "You have a hell of a throwing arm, babe. Remind me not to fuck with you," he said, earning a small laugh from her. She offered him her hand but he refused. "I need to do something quick," he told her, reaching into his pocket.

Slowly, he got onto one knee and pulled the ring from his pocket. A confused expression formed on her face, not noticing the box in his hand. "I was gonna wait until our anniversary to do this, but I didn't wanna wait. Ah, you know that I'm not that great at this stuff, Mandy, but I'll try my best. Look, I'm crazy in love with you. You annoy the hell outta me sometimes, but you're the most beautiful, confident woman I've ever met. And I don't know why, but you chose me, of all guys. I can't say that it'll be perfect because it never will be, we are who we are...but we can try. So... Amanda," he took a deep breath, hands shaking as he opened the box, "will you-"

"Stop," she interrupted him, wiping away the tears of joy forming in her bright blue eyes. "Just for a second, before I say yes. I have some things I wanna tell you."

"Alright," he agreed quietly, shifting on his knee. The snow had soaked his hair and clothes at this point, but he didn't care. It was worth it.

"I know that I've said this a million times before, but please be careful. I don't wanna be a widow and a single mother at twenty-one," she said pleadingly.

"I promise you that I'll do whatever it takes to make sure that never happens. I know that I haven't been the most careful lately," he admitted, "but I swear that'll change."

She nodded, a satisfied look on her face. "One more thing. I want to leave this place someday, Michael. It's too damn cold and I wanna get as far away from this small town as I can. I want it to be just you, me, and our baby."

"I'd like that, too, darlin'. Maybe one day we can do that. Can I finish now?" he asked with a smirk. She just nodded, grinning down at him. "Will you marry me?"

"Yes, it took you long enough, you idiot!" she said with a laugh and wrapped him into a hug, lightly pressing a kiss to his lips. They only pulled away long enough for him to slip the ring onto her finger. "I love you, Michael," she whispered.

"I love you, too," he said and pulled her into the most passionate kiss he'd ever had in his life. Her hands ran up the back of his neck and tangled in his wet hair; his gently resting on her waist. The kiss allowed his worries about their future to disappear for a second. He only focused on the way the both of them smiled into the kiss, the taste of her sweet and warm lips against his. Despite their complications, he could still see that picket fence life with her, he _knew_ that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.


	13. Grenade

_Sorry that I missed an update last week! I've been working on this fic instead of finishing one of the ones I already have in progress. It's probably the longest one I'll ever write, it's about twice the length of one of my normal uploads. I've noticed you guys wanting some stuff including Amanda being in danger, which is what this update focuses on. Enjoy as always!_

* * *

"C'mon, babe, can't you just do that stuff tomorrow?" Michael asked pleadingly as he placed kisses along her body, admiring the feel of her smooth skin beneath his lips. His hands gently caressed her hips. Ever since they'd gotten back together a few weeks ago, they could barely keep their hands off of each other, much to the horror of their kids.

Amanda buried her fingers into his hair, sighing in pleasure, "Michael, darling, you know that I love you acting like this, but I have to get an outfit for your big movie premiere. Honestly, I have no idea how you even _got_ that job in the first place," she wondered.

"What, my naturally charming personality isn't enough?" he asked, grinning down at her.

"Yeah, maybe twenty years ago I'd believe that it was," she said teasingly.

"Hurtful," he pouted. "But I don't get why you're leaving just as we're getting started."

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, "I'll only be gone for a little bit. We can just pick up where we left off," she whispered in his ear.

He sighed in defeat and rolled over onto his side of the bed, "Fine."

"Love you," she said, getting up and grabbing his car keys from the nightstand.

"Wow, first you leave and then you take my car?" he called out from the bed.

"Mine is still in the shop for another day. The engine's been fucked up for a couple of months now…" she trailed off as she got dressed.

"Yeah, I don't know anything about that," Michael said with a nervous laugh, remembering the day his yacht got stolen.

"Right," she smirked knowingly. "I'll see you later."

"Love you, too…" he muttered quietly before she left.

* * *

Amanda glanced nervously at the rearview mirror. The same cars had been following her ever since she had left the house. The cars were too cliche to be a coincidence: black, tinted windows, completely nondescript. She swallowed nervously, speeding up a little bit. Her pursuers sped up, too. She shakily reached for her phone to call Michael, only to see that it was dead. "Shit…" she said under her breath.

Another quick glance at the mirror showed the windows of the other cars rolling down and the unmistakable metallic glint of a gun. Suddenly, it clicked in her. The fact that she was using her husband's car, the shady jeeps following her…

"God, I'm gonna fucking kill him…" she whispered in a trembling voice. She sped up more in an attempt to escape of the futility of her situation. The chase had led them into East Los Santos at this point, the roads becoming a bit too empty and secluded for her taste. The jeep in the front roared louder and closed in farther, ramming into the back of her car in the process.

She grimaced in pain and surprise at the whiplash, already feeling bruises starting to form on her body from the impact. Gunshots started ringing in her ears as the men started opening fire on her. Amanda ducked her head and set her jaw, her frustration disguising her fear, "Oh, come on…"

The back window shattered as a bullet went through it, only inches away from where her head had been. Another gunshot rang out along with the popping sound of one of her tires. The tire gave out, the useless rim grinding along the road.

She desperately tried to control the car, but another tire was quickly shot out as well, making it near impossible to steer anymore. Despite her best efforts, she finally crashed into a railing. Her head hit the steering wheel, almost making her pass out on the spot.

She barely registered the jeeps behind her stop, or the armed men getting out of them, barely heard one of them starting to speak into a radio. "Mr. Weston, it's not him," one of the mercenaries said. "It's the idiot's wife."

"Even fucking better! Bring her to my warehouse. You can have a little fun, but try to keep her in one piece, yeah?" a smug voice replied.

"Yes, sir," the mercenary answered monotonously, opening the door of her car.

The last thing she felt before her vision went black was a needle slipping into the side of her neck.

* * *

Michael paced around the living room nervously. It had been hours since his wife had left and she hadn't even texted him. All of his calls had gone straight to voicemail, his texts unread.

It wasn't that he was afraid that she was cheating on him again, he was confident that that part of their relationship was fixed, even though a little part of him still worried about that. He was more afraid of her paying the price for his own stupid mistakes. In his line of work, he _had_ to be constantly on edge or he'd be dead. It was one thing for him to get hurt, that was fine, he'd make it, but he would have no idea what to do if something happened to her.

The ringing of his phone pulled him from his thoughts. He immediately rushed over to it, expecting to see that Amanda was calling him, apologizing for not calling sooner, but was met with anger upon seeing the real caller.

"Devin," he seethed. "The fuck do you want?"

"Oh, it's not something that _I_ want, Michael. In fact, I think I have something of yours," Devin said.

Michael's blood ran cold. "Bullshit," he said weakly, trying to call his bluff.

"I think she wants to say hi! One second…" Muffled cries of pain and sounds of struggling carried through the phone.

Finally, he heard a small, confused murmur of, "Michael, help me…" coming from his wife.

Michael just stood there in shock, mouth hanging open. In that moment, there was no convincing himself that he was a good guy, that he did wrong things for the right reasons. He was a monster for letting this happen to her. "I'm sorry, baby...I'm gonna get you outta there as soon as I can," he frantically tried to reassure her. "I love you and I'm gonna take care of this."

"How romantic!" Devin mocked. "But I don't think that's going to happen. After all, I thought going after women was fair game?"

"Molly died in an _accident_ following your orders and I'm sorry about that, okay?!" Michael angrily explained.

"Well, _accidents_ happen, don't they?" Devin asked vaguely.

Michael took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, "This is between you and me, so just let her go and we can talk this through."

"Negotiation time is over, Michael," the billionaire snapped. "You took something of mine away from me so I'm just returning the favor!"

"Hey, send your private army after me all you want, pal, I won't be hiding! But I won't let you lay a goddamn hand on her!" Michael growled, fist clenched at his side

"I'm afraid it's a bit late for that…" Devin trailed off.

Something in Michael finally snapped. He wasn't sure if it was the other man's smugness, the thought that his wife was hurt or worse, or a bit of both. "I'm gonna fucking kill you, Devin!" he yelled.

Devin just laughed. "Goodbye, Michael," he said before he hung up.

* * *

"That guy is the worst kind of disaster!" Devin mused as he put his phone back in his pocket. His calculating eyes trailed over to her, his helpless captive. A cruel smirk crossed his face. "Tell me something: how on Earth did you two stay married?"

Amanda shifted uncomfortably in the hard wooden chair. Her wrists were tied tightly to the arms of the chair, chafed raw and bleeding, and her head was killing her, but she sat up straighter and glared coldly at him.

"I mean, was it really love? I hear you're the type of girl who likes money _a lot_ , if you know what I mean-" Devin started.

"Fuck you," she snapped. "You don't know anything about me and him."

"Hit a nerve there, huh? I know enough…" he said, flipping through a file. "I know that De Santa isn't your real last name. I know that the both of you have had numerous affairs, more than even _I'm_ comfortable talking about and I'm a freak! I know _why_ you both had the affairs..."

"Do you have a point with all of this?" she asked in a bored tone.

"Actually, I do have a point and it's that your husband is the most selfish person I've ever met! He's messed up several business ventures of mine, not to mention what he's done to you. After all, you wouldn't even be here if it weren't for him..."

"If you're trying to make me blame him or hate him for this, it's not gonna work," she said calmly.

"I guess I'll have to be a little more persuasive then…" he muttered, grabbing a knife from a nearby table. "Now, I'm not the type of guy to do my own dirty work, but I don't trust any of these knuckleheads to do the job right. Plus, Townley won't take this too seriously unless that pretty face is a little less perfect…"

The knife pressed into her cheek just hard enough to draw blood. She had to bite down on her lip to keep herself from crying out in agony. "Or he'll just kill you for hurting me…" Amanda said, voice tight with pain.

Devin shrugged but put the knife down anyway. "Well, we're going to have to deal with you one way or another."

"He'll come for me…" she muttered.

"Maybe he will," he said. "If there's one thing I know about Michael, it's that he acts in his own self-interest. I'd like to see him try to get past all these armed goons, anyways."

She looked at the platoon of steroid-filled muscle heads with assault rifles, unimpressed. "You're gonna need more than this to get rid of him," she said with a smirk.

* * *

Michael ran a hand down his face, sighing. He wished that there was another way, but he had no idea how much time he had. Reluctantly, he called Trevor.

"Speak," Trevor answered shortly.

"Uh, hey, T," he started nervously.

Trevor's annoyance practically seeped through the phone, "Are you calling me for a chat or something, Townley?"

"Look, I know we're not on the best terms, but I need your help. It's about Devin," Michael said.

"Ugh, that prick!" Trevor growled. "Is this about Frank's money?"

"No, this is different. He...he took Amanda," his voice cracked slightly, finally giving into all of the emotions and pressure weighing him down. Actually saying it out loud made the reality of the situation that much harsher.

"He _what_?!" Trevor asked in confusion, anger steadily creeping into his voice.

"He wanted to get me for some bullshit issues we had, but she was using my car...so he took her instead. I need your help to get her outta there," Michael explained. "He's gonna kill her if I don't get there fast enough!"

Trevor sighed. "Fuck...you're lucky that I don't want those kids to be without a mother. Come over here and we'll talk, alright?"

"Thanks, T," Michael said with a weak smile.

"You owe me for this, M."

Michael chuckled bitterly, "Yeah, I know…"

* * *

Devin looked at his watch, an almost bored look on his face. "Huh, I would have thought he'd shown up by now. Maybe he isn't coming…"

Amanda was beginning to get nervous, more nervous than she already was, at least. He had to be on his way, right? He was probably just making a plan...he wouldn't just give up and leave her here to die. Her husband had done many questionable things in his life, but he'd do anything to protect her. "He will…" she said under her breath.

"He might, but he's sure taking his time about it. Anyways, I should get going. I have a dinner party tonight since I have better things to do than waiting around for a washed-up bank robber," Devin said with a laugh. He walked over to her, looking at her with an almost pitiful look in his eyes. "If only I didn't have my twenty and under rule...such beauty gone to waste." His hand touched her face, thumb wiping away the blood on her cheek.

She just stared at him in disgust and anger, her hands struggling against the restraints. Without thinking, she leaned forward and bit down hard on his finger, only stopping when she heard the click of guns being readied.

"Stupid bitch!" Devin yelled, finally losing his composure. Seething in rage, he slapped her with his good hand. She just smirked at him despite the stinging pain in her face. "You're feisty though...I like that." It was then that he noticed the mercenaries with the guns pointed at her. "Put the damn guns down, you idiots. I'm going to leave. If Townley shows up...well, you know what to do. Now, maybe another dose will calm you down…" The syringe slipped into her neck again and she stopped struggling.

* * *

"You know smoking is bad for you," Trevor quipped as he grabbed a beer from the fridge.

Michael just rolled his eyes, frowning against his cigarette. "I'm sorry if my wife being kidnapped gets me a little stressed out," he said sarcastically.

Trevor grinned at him maniacally. "I don't want you dying on me before I get a chance to kill you myself."

"Oh, give it a rest, Trevor," Michael snapped impatiently. "At least until this shit is over with."

"Whatever you say…" the psychopath muttered, looking up when he saw the door open. "Ah, Franklin!"

"Hey dudes, what's happening?" Franklin asked as he walked in.

"Michael's dear wife has been abducted by our old friend Devin Weston and he needs our help to rescue her!" Trevor explained, gesturing wildly with the beer in his hand.

"Devin? Are you fucking serious?!" Franklin asked angrily. "I should have killed his punk ass the day he didn't give me my money…"

"Kid, this has nothing to do with you. Devin and I have been having some issues for a few weeks. This is between me and him," Michael reassured him.

"Yeah, whatever…" The younger man relaxed slightly. "So what's the plan, man?"

"Uh, I haven't thought that far ahead," Michael admitted. "I was too busy telling the kids what happened."

"Oh, I bet that went over well…" Trevor chuckled sarcastically.

Michael sighed. "Yeah, they were pretty pissed with me, but mostly scared. Made me feel like a huge asshole…"

"Well, you are one," Trevor said quickly.

"Yup, I know. Anyway, I sent them to a hotel until I figure things out…" Michael pulled his phone from his pocket, smirking. "Plans," he said, "are why we have Lester."

Lester answered almost immediately. "What now?" he asked, annoyed.

Michael quickly told him what happened. "So we need your help," he finished.

"Huh, that sounds…problematic…" Lester said distractedly.

"Yeah, no shit," Michael said. "Can you find us a location on Devin?"

"Fine..." Lester sighed. "Let's see...I have a phone signal from him a couple hours ago from a warehouse in North Los Santos. He's at his big mansion in the hills now, though."

Michael sighed in relief, glad that they had a lead. "Alright, send me the address. Thanks, Lester."

"Yeah...just be careful, okay?"

"We always are," Michael said before he hung up.

"So we going to the warehouse, right?" Franklin asked.

"Actually, I am," Michael replied. "I want you two to go to Devin's and cause a distraction while I go get Amanda."

"Uh, are you sure about that?" Trevor joined in. "The guy owns a private army and he's kinda expecting you to show up."

"I can handle myself, Trevor. This was my problem in the first place. Devin will probably send a bunch of his men over to his house once you get over there, anyway," Michael said.

"Good luck, man," Franklin said. "Let's go, T." Trevor reluctantly followed the younger man out of the strip club

"Thanks...I'll sure need it," Michael muttered.

* * *

Michael sat outside the warehouse, carefully loading his guns. He knew that he was in the right place judging by all of the Merryweather jeeps outside. A small smile crossed his face when a few of them left in a hurry, no doubt from his friends' distraction. He frowned, trying to figure out the best way to go about this. Trevor would run in guns blazing, no hesitation. Franklin would probably do the same thing now that he thought about it. Lester would tell him to play it smart and would try to hack his way through everyone. Michael decided to start things off stealthy.

He attached the suppressor to his pistol and slung his rifle over his back as he got out of the car. A quick glance at the building showed only two guards outside while the rest were no doubt inside. Michael hid by some cover behind the oblivious guards.

"I don't get why Weston hasn't just killed her yet," one of them said. "It'd teach the guy the same lesson."

The other mercenary scoffed. "I'd rather be guarding some annoying housewife than dealing with that psychotic drug dealer and his friends. Plus, she's easy on the eyes."

 _Definitely the right place_ , Michael thought, setting his jaw in barely concealed anger. He quickly stood up and dispatched the mercenaries, luckily not drawing the attention of the ones who were inside. He opened the back door of the warehouse, closing it quietly behind him.

His calculating blue eyes scanned the interior of the building. Typical Merryweather guards with assault rifles, a lot of them, but no more than he could handle. His shoulders slumped in relief when he saw his wife, tied up and scared, but alive.

It wasn't until there was a gun pressed to the back of his head that he noticed the mercenaries that had snuck up behind him. "So much for stealth…" he muttered sarcastically as he lifted his gun and turned around.

The first bullet he fired went through the head of the guy that had a gun to his head, the man's blood splattering onto his suit. His second went wild as the other guard tackled him, landing a few punches to his face - _shit that's gonna leave a mark_ \- and caused him to crash into the wall. He ducked down to grab his gun, smirking as the man punched the spot on the wall where his head just was.

Michael quickly ended his pain by firing a bullet into his gut. Panting, he scrambled behind cover, wiping away the blood running down his face from a cut on his forehead. It was times like these where he fully realized that he wasn't in his twenties anymore. He got his rifle off of his back and opened fire on the other mercenaries.

Time seemed to slow down as he fought off the rest of the men. After a long, exhausting fight, he finally managed to finish them off. Breathing heavily, he ran a hand through his hair and caught his breath for a moment. He looked around at all of the carnage surrounding him. "Jesus fuckin' Christ…" he muttered breathlessly.

Finally, he ran over to Amanda. She didn't look too worse for wear aside from a cut on her cheek and a couple bruises on her face. "Baby, are you okay?" he asked as he gently untied her hands, frowning at the blood covering her wrists. He could feel her trembling beneath his own hands.

She didn't respond, just stared down at the blood-soaked floor. He reached out for her, a little bit of his heart breaking when she flinched away from his hand.

"Amanda, c'mon, talk to me," he said softly. "It's me. It's over now."

The happiness he felt when she lifted her head up quickly faded when he saw the way she didn't look directly at him, saw how glazed and distant her normally beautiful eyes looked.

"You have to come back to me," he whispered, trying his best to get her to look at him.

When she finally looked at him, really _looked_ at him, the warmth and softness in her blue eyes he was used to seeing was gone, replaced by fear and shock. "Yeah, I-I'm fine…" she finally managed to breathe out.

Michael sighed in relief. "Good...let's get you outta here," he said as he helped her stand up.

"You-you're okay, right?" she asked weakly.

"Ah, nothing that won't heal," he replied teasingly. He led her through the warehouse, trying to shield her view from the dead bodies as best he could. They paused briefly when they saw a mercenary who was bleeding out on the ground. Michael immediately drew his gun, aiming cautiously down at the dying man.

The Merryweather agent grinned at him through bloodstained teeth. "Gift from Devin," he said, revealing the live grenade in his hand. "He took the pin."

"Amanda, get back-" Michael tried to pull her away as far as he could before the explosion rang out. The force of it sent him flying a few feet, face first into the ground. "Oh, fuck…" he muttered as he unsteadily got up, wincing as he felt the pieces of shrapnel in his skin. He heard a strangled cry of pain coming to the right of him. "No…" he said when he saw the broken form of his wife.

Large fragments of shrapnel were embedded in her body, a pool of rapidly expanding blood around her. Burns ran along her arms and torso He ran over to her, feeling tears start to prick at the corners of his eyes. "Shit... _shit_ …" he said frantically, his hands covering her wounds in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. Amanda just moaned in pain beneath him. This was all his fault, he knew. This would have never happened to her if she'd still been away from him. "I'm so sorry…" he whispered.

* * *

Everything hurt. Trying to get up, pressing her hands to her injuries, even breathing sent agony through her body. The pieces of shrapnel in her body were practically living things, moving and cutting her more with every breath. Michael's voice sounded faint and muffled to her ears when he said, "I'm gonna pick you up, okay?"

He gently scooped her up in his arms and started running towards the exit. _Sweeping me off my feet again,_ she wanted to say, but all she could do was bury her face in his shirt and cry in pain. "Michael…" Amanda whimpered.

"I know it hurts, baby, but you're gonna be okay," he said with overwhelming guilt in his voice.

"Not...your fault…" she whispered. Something was dripping onto her and had a feeling that it wasn't blood. She glanced up at his face only to see tears falling from his eyes. She'd never seen him cry before, she realized. Not once in over twenty years of marriage. She honestly hadn't thought the man was capable of it. This was how bad she knew it was.

When they finally made it out to the car, he opened the door and put her in the back. A cry of pain came from her when her bloody, burnt arm bumped against the seat. "Sorry…" Michael immediately apologized. "I'm sorry…"

She stared at him as he walked over to the driver's side. He had a fair share of injuries, too. A few cuts and bruises on his face, a bullet graze, some shrapnel in his arms and back. But she knew all too well that most of the blood covering him was hers.

He started driving as fast as he could. "I need to make a call," he told her, not taking his eyes off of the rear view mirror, partly to see if there was anyone following them, mostly to see how she was doing. Amanda nodded, watching as he pulled out his phone. She could make out him saying that she needed a doctor, that going to the hospital wasn't an option. Eventually, he sighed a little in relief. "Thanks, Lester," he said before he hung up. He looked back at her. "Hey, Amanda, how you doing back there?"

She wanted to say that she was fine, that she'd be fine, anything to make him sound less worried. He was more scared than she and that made it worse. All that came out of her mouth was a pained sob.

"Alright, not good…" he muttered in translation. "We're on the way to the doctor right now. Just hang in there, darling."

She was trying, she really was, but her vision was starting to go dark around the edges. A person couldn't survive after losing a certain amount of blood and she was starting to think that she was getting very close to that number. She opened her mouth to tell him that she loved him one last time, but the words just couldn't form. Everything went black before she got a chance to say anything.

* * *

Michael sat impatiently outside of the room where his wife was being operated on. It had been a couple hours since he'd shown up outside of the doctor's with an unconscious Amanda in his arms. She could be dead or alive, he didn't know yet.

He looked down at his phone, where he read the news of a kidnapping at Devin Weston's party. Trevor had called him not long ago and had simply said, "It's done."

Strangely, despite Devin being gone, he didn't feel satisfied. It meant that he wouldn't bother him anymore, yeah, but he wished that it didn't take his wife nearly dying for that to happen. Even if Amanda made a full recovery, she'd have scars from the event, both physical and emotional. She could never be the same person as she was before.

Finally, the doctor emerged, exhausted and covered in blood. Michael anxiously looked up at him. "Well?" he asked.

The doctor pulled his mask off of his face, sighing. "She'll live," he said in a slightly accented voice. He was the best doctor in the state, Lester had reassured him. He'd moved from France to Los Santos to get rich by overpricing celebrities by day and white collar criminals by night.

"I need to see her," Michael immediately said as he got up before the doctor stopped him.

"Not so fast," he cut him off. "She is still unconscious and we need to attend to your injuries."

Michael set his jaw in annoyance, voice starting to rise, "I'm fine. Just let me see her."

The medic glared at him, syringe in hand. "Mr. De Santa, if you don't agree willingly, I will have to sedate you and treat your injuries, anyway."

"Fine," Michael relaxed slightly and allowed the other man to lead him into a different room. The doctor practically had to cut his ruined shirt off of him since it was stuck to his body with his wife's blood. He grimaced as the doctor dug the pieces of shrapnel from his back, the pieces of metal glimmering with blood when they were pulled out. "Tell me something, doc. How bad was it?"

"She lost a lot of blood and had a few second degree burns aside from a minor concussion. Let's just say she's lucky you got here when you did...'" he trailed off momentarily, a concentrated look crossing his face as he bandaged the bullet graze on Michael's arm. "I would be more concerned about her emotional state after she recovers."

"Why do you say that?" Michael asked.

"I'm afraid that I am not a therapist, but I have seen this before. She'll already be shaken up after being captured. As for the grenade, she is going to have some pretty bad scars that only time will heal. Look...she's a pretty girl, the type who values her body, yes?" he asked, earning a nod from Michael. "Suddenly, she's got these big scars and her perfect body doesn't feel so perfect anymore. It'll take a big hit to her self-esteem. I would keep a close eye on her for the next few months."

"Alright," Michael said quietly. "Thanks, doc."

"Just doing my job," he gave him a small smile. "Now you may go see her."

Michael all but sprinted over to the next room and rushed over to Amanda's bedside. Her skin was pale, too pale, and he could feel the bulk of the bandages wrapped around her body beneath the bed sheets, but she was alive. He grabbed her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her wedding ring. "I love you so much, darlin'. This is all my fault…" he whispered. He sighed as he sat back. "Time to wait…"

* * *

Waking up was a bit of a shock, mostly because she hadn't expected to wake up again. Amanda became instantly aware of the burning pains and aches of her injuries as she stirred awake. She groaned slightly, eyes hesitantly fluttering open.

"Amanda?"

Michael said it quietly enough, but to her sensitive ears he may as well have been shouting. She whimpered, shutting her eyes again. His hand gently tucked a few locks of hair behind her ear before settling over one of her own hands. She opened her eyes again and wearily took in her surroundings. They weren't at home, most likely at the doctor's place that Michael had mentioned before she had gone unconscious. It was night judging by the moonlight shining through the window. He sat next to her bed, looking as if he'd been through hell, which, she supposed, he had. The healing cuts and bruises on his face and dark circles under his eyes were a sharp contrast to his pale skin. "Hey…" she whispered.

He smiled at her in pure relief. "Hey. How do you feel?"

"Simply fantastic…" Amanda muttered sarcastically, coughing at the end of the sentence.

Michael chuckled as he got up to get her some water. "It's been two days, just so you know. The kids are fine, just scared, and that guy isn't going to bother us anymore."

She nodded, a bitter taste in her mouth, and couldn't help but notice the way his hand shook when he handed her the water bottle. "Michael…" she started after she took a drink.

"Yeah?" he asked, sitting back down and staring at her with tired eyes.

She stared down at herself, feeling the number of bandages covering her. "How bad was it?"

His face fell. "I'm not gonna lie...it was pretty bad, but the doctor says you're gonna be okay. But, shit...I almost lost you because of some stupid mistake I made."

"Michael, don't-" She knew exactly where this was going and desperately tried to stop it.

"Just think about it. This wouldn't have happened if you were still away from me. You and the kids would be so much better off without me…" he said quietly, a bitter edge to his voice.

Grimacing, she leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Stop that," she demanded. "You couldn't have known that this would happen. Just stop beating yourself up about it. God, someone else already did judging by the way you look…"

A genuine smile crossed his face. "Alright, fine," he conceded.

"Good…" she murmured tiredly, eyes starting to fall shut.

He took notice and adjusted her pillows a little bit. "Are you gonna go back to sleep?"

She nodded again, yawning. "You need to get some sleep, too."

"Honey, I'm fine."

"No, you look terrible, darling."

"Wow, thanks for putting it so lightly," he said sarcastically.

"It's true though, just...please get some sleep? For me?" she looked up at him pleadingly.

He sighed in defeat and turned off the light. "Okay, since you put it like that."

"Don't you want to go home and sleep in a real bed?" she asked in confusion.

It was dark but she could practically see the sadness in his eyes. "I can't sleep there without you," he admitted.

"Oh…" she said.

She felt his hand grip hers reassuringly. "I don't mind sleeping here, really. It's fine."

"Good night, Michael."

"Good night, sweetheart."

* * *

 _He stood above her, a cruel, unforgiving smirk on his face. Whatever drug he'd given her was still wearing off and all she could do was stare helplessly at him as he pressed the knife to her cheeks, her neck, blood seeping beneath the blade. He laughed at her whines of pain, her struggles against the restraints. Eventually, finally, he left, leaving her at the mercy of his hired army._

" _Just you and us now…" one of them grinned suggestively at her. His eyes stared down at her hungrily, a look that she had seen too many times before. "Be a shame to let that bank robber have you all to himself…"_

 _Her eyes widened in horror as the mercenary started taking off his body armor. She started to panic and fight harder against the straps, not caring about the biting pain in her wrists. The man had just started to unzip his pants when a gunshot rang out. "What the fuck?!" the agent yelled._

 _Her head snapped to the source, shoulders sagging in relief when she saw her husband fighting off the guards. He got tackled by one of them, his gun firing off wildly as he fell. The stray bullet buried itself in the head of the guard who had just tried to make those…advances on her._

 _And suddenly she wasn't tied to the chair anymore, she was being led by Michael before they stopped by a dying guard. She saw the grenade on the ground too late, didn't follow Michael's warning until it was too late._

 _She stared at the pieces of metal jutting out of her body, watching blood soak through her burned and ruined clothes. A terrified scream cut through the air and it took her a moment to realize that it was her._

 _Michael picked her up with gentle, strong arms and carried her outside into the car. He reassured her constantly, told her that they were gonna see the best doctor. The car seat was slick with her blood and she knew that she needed to tell him that she loved him because she was dying. He looked back at her, face darkening when he saw the state of her. "Amanda!" he said desperately, trying to keep her awake-_

"Amanda, wake up!"

She shot awake, screaming, scrambling away from the touch. She was back in that warehouse...she was dying-

"Baby, calm down, it's okay," Michael gently rested his hands on her shoulders. "It's me, it's just me."

Amanda buried her face into his shirt, sobbing. "Michael, I-" she stuttered through her tears. Her fingers dug into his back, probably painful against his healing injuries, but she needed the reassurance that he was actually there and not just some dream.

It still all felt too real. Every time she shut her eyes she saw the grenade rolling towards her slowly, her blood pooling around her, Michael's face staring down at her pityingly...

Strong hands ran through her sweaty hair. Calm, reassuring, loving. Not like...no. She shook her head, not being able to bring herself to think about that. "Take a deep breath, Mandy. Breathe. You're safe," he murmured. He didn't tell her that she was okay or that they were fine because that was a flat out lie.

"Before you got me, one of them tried to…" she had started crying too much to finish the sentence.

Michael got the idea of what she was trying to say and pulled her closer. "God damn it...I'm sorry, baby…" his voice cracked as he buried his face into her hair.

They stayed like that for a few minutes until her crying subsided, both of them desperate for each other's touch. It had been three weeks since the doctor let her go home but it felt like just yesterday he had brought her there, unconscious and barely breathing, in his arms. Since then, they had both woken each other up screaming in the middle of the night almost every day with their respective nightmares; his about losing her, hers about losing herself.

"Sorry for waking you up…" she whispered after she caught her breath.

"Don't be. I've done that to you too many times before. 'Bout time I got a taste of my own medicine," he cracked a crooked smile at her.

Amanda laughed weakly and wiped the stray tears away from her eyes. "Thanks, darling."

"Any time you need a human pillow, I'm here," he said with a smirk.

They'd come so far within the past few months. From screaming at each other and constantly cheating on each other to splitting up to getting back together and being passionately in love again to...this. Nightmares that wouldn't go away, flashbacks, and constant panic attacks but yet it felt worth it.

They were closer than they'd ever been before because of what had happened. Whenever her mind went back to that dark place, Michael was there with a cheesy movie line or some story about the stupid things they did when they were younger. Somehow, she knew that everything was going to be okay as long as they were together.

She leaned forward to press a light kiss to his lips. "I love you, Michael."

"I love you, too," was his quiet reply.

* * *

She trailed her fingers over the fresh scars on his arms, frowning. It had been over a month now since the accident and things were finally starting to heal. "Don't these bother you?" she asked.

Michael just shrugged. "Not really. Another one to add to the list."

"I wish I could feel that way…" Amanda muttered as she pulled her shirt over her head and stared at herself in the mirror. She stared at the healing, angry looking wounds covering her body. The jagged marks where the shrapnel had been embedded in her skin ran all the way from her chest to her stomach, some nothing more than tiny nicks, while one was almost the size of her fist. The few burns that accompanied the scars were a light pink now, making her almost pretend that she just had a sunburn instead of second degree burns.

She hated them. She'd always been a vain person, it was part of the reason why she had become a stripper. She had always taken pride in her once flawless body, now ruined by these big, ugly scars. Tears formed in her eyes before she could stop them.

Michael came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Scars fade, Amanda."

"Yeah…" she swallowed hard, nodding. "I know."

"We're both still here, alive. It...it coulda been so much worse…" he reminded her.

"I know," she repeated quietly.

He sighed at her lack of convincing confidence. Before she could protest, he picked her small frame up into his arms and carried her over to the bed.

"What are you doing?" she asked with a frown but wrapped her arms around his neck anyway.

"Making you feel better," he said as he set her down delicately on the mattress. He carefully positioned himself above her and took off his own shirt, revealing the old and new scars that dominated his body. "I've had some of these from before I first met you. Did you ever think less of me because of them?"

"No…" she admitted. "I liked them."

"Exactly. Look...I love you for _you_ , not your body. Even I'm not that much of an asshole," he said with a chuckle. "These…" he trailed off as he placed kisses to the scars that adorned her body, "make you even more beautiful to me."

"Thank you, Michael…" For the first time since she'd been kidnapped, a genuine smile broke across her face. "I love you…" she said, pulling him into a kiss.

Michael kissed her back with equal fervor, only pulling away long enough to say, "Love you too, darlin'. Scars and everything."


	14. Too Much To Drink Pt 1

_It feels like forever since I've updated this…I've missed it! I'm sorry for the lack of uploads, I've been trying to make up a lot of school work that I've missed. The weekly updates will start back up again next week, I promise! In this chapter, someone has a little bit too much to drink…_

* * *

Michael's wife was drunk off of her ass, that was something he knew for a fact. They'd gone out for a couple drinks after dinner, but now he wasn't so sure that it'd been a good idea. He'd stopped halfway through his second whiskey after seeing how wasted she already was. By then, there wasn't much he could do to stop her. _Just one more drink, babe_ , she had promised him. Three drinks later, she was hanging off his arm, giggling hysterically.

"Drunk again, my darling! Like the night we met…" Amanda slurred with a grin, eyes glinting in the darkness of the bar.

Michael smirked at her, "Yeah, maybe you are…"

"I liked your friend…" she muttered almost incoherently.

"Trevor?!" he asked, shocked.

She shook her head. "No...the other guy. But then you came on so strong! All that charm, all that talk...and now look at us," she giggled again. "Two kids, a million lies, and a near divorce later...I love you! If I had to marry a lying, cheating, thieving killer, I'm just glad it was you!" she exclaimed, leaning against him for support.

He chuckled as he held her up. "And if I had to marry a drunken stripper, baby, I'm glad it was you."

She staggered underneath his arm before pulling back to stare at him, blue eyes narrow with concentration. "You're so handsome...have I told you that? It would have been _so much easier_ to hate you if it weren't for that face…God, you couldn't have gone bald or something?!" she murmured in frustration as she reached up and ran a hand through his thick hair. "You aged like a fine wine, darling…"

Michael blushed slightly. Yeah, she was drunk...but what was that saying? A drunk man's sayings were a sober man's thoughts? He knew that even though the alcohol gave her the courage to say these things, it wasn't entirely the sayings of a drunken woman. "Uh, thanks babe...I guess. Now let's get you back home, you're gonna have a really shitty hangover in the morning…" he said, starting to lead her out of the crowded bar.

"Worth it…" she mumbled. She squinted as soon as they got outside, despite the fact that it was dark out and it was raining. "I'm so drunk...the world is spinning...our _lives_ are spinning, everything is spinning, Michael…"

Michael just let her ramble on, laughing to himself. "Yes, it is…" he said good-naturedly.

"We lived in the Midwest and you did _bad_ things and you betrayed everybody...and now we're here…" she continued, making him stop dead in his tracks. They paused and stood underneath the awning outside the club. He sighed as he stared at the rain pouring down over Downtown Vinewood.

This always happened whenever she had a bit too much to drink. She got nostalgic and remembered their past, not always fondly. A few months ago, before they had split up and gotten back together, she would have yelled at him about how he had ruined their lives and how much of an asshole he was. Now she just sounded sad.

Amanda didn't even notice them stopping, "And you do bad things... and I pretend you don't, and you pretend it's okay. And we drink, and cry, and love...and _cheat..._ and it's awful," she whimpered, burying her head into his shoulder. "Michael, you won't speak...and _shit,_ I am so drunk…"

He silently wrapped his arms around her waist. "I, uh…" he stuttered, at a loss for words.

"Don't just stand there," she pleaded, pulling away and staring at him with helpless blue eyes. "Please say something…"

"Well, what do you wanna hear?" he asked, whispering in her ear.

"That we'll be okay…" she murmured.

"Honey, we're fine," he said reassuringly. "When was the last time we were this happy?"

"Years ago…" she admitted, starting to relax a little bit.

"Exactly. We're doing it and we're doing it _right_ this time," he muttered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She smiled up at him weakly, "Thanks, Michael…"

"Anytime, darlin'. Let's head back home," he said, taking off his suit jacket and gently putting it around her shoulders to protect her from the worst of the rain. He started the car and held her door open for her as she got in.

"Such a gentleman…" Amanda said quietly.

"Ah, well, you know me…" he smirked, having a faint memory of one of their first dates. Michael started to drive towards their house, blushing when he noticed his wife's hand starting to creep up his leg. "Uh, babe…"

"Yes?" she hummed innocently.

"Not the best place to do this…" he managed to get out, trying his best to stay focused on the road.

He heard her move a little bit, then felt her lips brush against his ear, "Then pull over…" she whispered.

His hands gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter, knuckles going white with the force. Between those wandering hands and the kisses she was starting to press to his jaw, he had never felt more distracted in his life. "Alright," he said shakily.

Los Santos traffic was always slow, but tonight it seemed endless, especially with her practically sitting on his lap at this point. By the time the red light finally ended, Michael practically floored it and turned down into the nearest alley.

He hastily parked and pulled her into his lap. "Fuck…" he muttered breathlessly in between kisses. "Maybe we should go out more often…"

She nodded, panting. Her swift fingers traveled down to his pants, making quick work of his zipper. Michael smiled against her mouth as his hands traveled up the skirt of her dress, teasingly tracing little circles on her skin before tugging her panties from her legs. She rested her hands on his shoulders and pressed him flat against the seat. He roughly pulled her closer to him, reveling in the sharp moan that escaped her mouth. Their lips met in another deep kiss, only pulling apart for a quick gasp of air.

They fell into their familiar rhythm, one that they had years of practice to perfect. He knew just the right spots to kiss, knew how a certain spot near the pulse point of her neck drove her wild, and took full advantage of it. She knew how much he loved it when she ran her hands through his hair, knew when to roll her hips against his.

Michael felt twenty years younger. The thumping of the rain against the roof, the taste of alcohol on his wife's tongue, the scent of her against his skin, the risk of being caught...all of it made him feel twenty-five again. "Just like old times, huh?" he whispered in her ear when they finished.

Amanda buried her face into his neck, breathing heavily. "Yeah…" she said, voice thick with drunkenness and lust, before leaning in for another kiss.

He pulled back slightly, only allowing her his cheek. "Baby, can we wait to do round two 'till we get home? I'm not as young as I used to be…" he panted.

A cute little frown crossed her face. "Fine…" she sighed as she moved back into the passenger's seat.

Michael smirked as he zipped up his pants. He leaned back against the seat and shut his eyes briefly, still coming down from the high. When he finally caught his breath, he glanced over at Amanda, who was staring at the raindrops rolling down the windows, a peaceful look on her face.

Sometimes he still couldn't believe that they were married. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, definitely more than he deserved. She looked as good as she did the day he met her, all bright blue eyes and soft dark hair. The years had certainly been kinder to her than they had to him. He still wasn't quite sure why she ended up choosing him. A small smile worked its way onto his face as he stared at her.

She looked back at him, a blush spreading across her already-pink cheeks when she noticed him staring at her. "I love you, Michael," she blurted out suddenly. "I love you so much...have I told you that?"

"Not lately," he chuckled.

"I mean...I _know_ you are who you are and you've done some pretty shitty things...but so have I," she slurred. "And I know that you can't help it, that life shits on you, but you're strong and you got through that...and that's what I love about you. God, I want this to make sense _so badly_...and it's not…" Amanda sighed in frustration, struggling to find the right words.

He cut her off with a gentle kiss to the lips, feeling her body slump in relief against him. Her doubts faded away the longer the kiss went on. Eventually, it came to an end, like all good things have to. "Honey, I get it," he said reassuringly after he pulled away.

"You do?" she asked nervously.

"Yeah, I do, so don't look so worried," he smiled at her softly. "I love you, too, darling."

She smiled back at him hesitantly. "Oh...that was easier than I thought…" she muttered.

He started the car back up. "Let's get you back home."

* * *

He stumbled through the front door with her in his arms, nearly crashing into the table next to the door. She pulled away from their kiss only long enough to briefly glare at him.

"Careful," Amanda hissed quietly. "The kids are asleep, not deaf-"

Michael's lips found the side of her neck, cutting her off. "That's good news for us…" he muttered against her skin as he started to carry her up the stairs. His hands moved down to grip her thighs, earning a moan from her.

By the time they finally reached the bedroom, Michael could barely wait anymore. Between her moaning his name in his ear and the way her body pressed against his, he was ready to just do it right there. He hastily locked the door behind them before carrying her over to the bed and gently setting her down.

He made short work of her dress while she hastily unbuttoned his shirt. "Fuck...I love you…" he muttered as she undid his belt.

She grinned up at him and worked on getting his pants off of his hips. Once she did, her hand slid up the base of his neck, intertwining deep in his hair and pulling him down into a kiss. His own hands moved to grip her hips, which were grinding against his. "Love you, too…" she said breathlessly.

Her lips traveled up to kiss his jaw, pressing a trail of kisses to it while she whispered encouragement in his ear as he brought her closer to the edge. Michael brought his lips back to hers, feeling her hands tighten in his hair the faster he went. She groaned beneath him before letting out a sharp gasp as she went over the edge, pulling away from the kiss first to pant for breath.

Before long, he finished and collapsed onto the bed next to her, trying to catch his breath. Amanda reached up to stroke his hair with a satisfied smile. Her eyes wandered along his body before a small frown crossed her face. "You sure you're up for more, old man?" she asked teasingly.

Michael feigned hurt. "One: I'm only two years older than you." He positioned himself above her with a renewed energy and gave her a quick kiss. "Oh, and number two: I can do this all night."

* * *

Amanda woke up to the worst hangover she'd ever had. Her head throbbed as she sat up slightly, sensitive eyes burning when she glimpsed the rays of sunlight gently poking through the curtains. She groaned as she buried her head into her pillow.

As if on cue, Michael walked into the bedroom with a smug smile on his face, hair damp from the shower and looking a hundred times better than she probably did right now. He even _looked_ chipper, she noted with a frustrated growl. _Asshole…_

"Ah, I see you're awake," he said as he sat next to her and reached over onto the nightstand to grab her a water bottle and a bottle of ibuprofen. "Think you need this."

She sighed in relief and took it from him. "So how much did I drink last night…?" she asked after she took a drink.

"Let's just say that it was enough to make even _me_ think that it was too much," Michael said with a chuckle.

"Oh God…" Amanda muttered. "Did I do anything embarrassing?"

"Ah, let's see…" he trailed off with a smirk. "You went on about how well I've aged, told me that you love me, and forced me to pull the car over so we could have sex."

She just nodded.

"You don't have anything to say about that?" he asked in surprise.

She shrugged. "I said anything _embarrassing_ ," she said with a flirtatious grin at him.

He cleared his throat, a sheepish look on his face. "Oh…"

Amanda laughed at his reaction. She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Love you, darling."

Michael wrapped an arm around her waist, smiling. "Love you, too."


	15. Too Much To Drink Pt 2

_Sorry for another later update! I haven't had much time to write lately, but the weekly updates will return starting Thursday. Anyways, this chapter is kind of a part two of the last one, except the roles are a bit reversed and it's set a few months before the last one. Sorry if the ending seems a bit rushed, it was kind of late when I finished it. Enjoy :D_

* * *

Amanda wasn't quite sure when the breaking point was, when their relationship had fallen apart. It had started with Michael being a bit quieter than normal, being out a bit later than usual. At first, she didn't think anything of it. Sometimes he remembered some of the things he'd had to do before they'd moved to Los Santos and felt bad about it for a few days at a time. She thought it'd just go away with time.

But then the days turned into months and then the months turned into years and he hadn't gotten better. At any given time, he was either drinking or sitting by the pool, drowning in his self-pity. They never talked anymore. Never touched and it wasn't just the absence of sex, even though she missed that, too. They didn't kiss at all and slept as far apart as they could. He didn't make an effort to spend any time with the kids, leaving her to try and raise them by herself, which, in hindsight, she hadn't done a very good job of. His temper got worse, leading to arguments over the stupidest things.

The small arguments devolved into full-on screaming matches that lasted for hours at a time until one night she came home and found him in bed with a stripper. That was two years ago and things had only gotten worse. She'd gotten revenge by doing the same thing to him, but in the end it just felt hollow.

Over twenty years ago, she fell in love with the most charming, brilliant man she'd ever seen. Now here they were, bitter forty year olds sitting as far apart on the couch as they could in awkward silence as one of his old movies played in the background. She could see the irritated tick of his jaw when he glanced over at her, could see the poorly contained anger in his eyes. She began to wonder if he was thinking the same things as she was.

Amanda could barely take it anymore. "Well, isn't this just great? A husband and wife spending quality time together," she said sarcastically.

"Oh, you said it. Makes a nice change of pace for you, from banging some stranger then _weeping_ ," his voice was a mocking whimper at the end of the sentence, a cruel smirk on his face.

"I wanted our marriage to work, Michael," she sighed.

He chuckled as he finished the half-empty drink in his hand. "Nothing like boning the help to give those old marriage vows that extra kick!" was his sarcastic reply.

She stared at him in disbelief. "Really? From _you?!_ You self-pitying jerk! You ridiculous hypocrite!" her voice rose with each insult.

"I'm not a ridiculous hypocrite, I'm a perfectly good hypocrite!" Michael said in self-defense.

"No, you're just selfish and annoying!"

He rolled his eyes and got up from the couch, walking into the kitchen. "I'm a lot more than that…" he said as he poured himself another drink.

She followed him into the kitchen, not done yet. "Well, you said it!"

Michael sighed and downed the glass of whiskey. "God damn it, Amanda, what do you want from me?!" he growled, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"I want my husband back!" she said, voice shaking with rage.

He just looked at her in bewilderment. "I'm right in front of you, I haven't left!"

Amanda shook her head. "You're here...but you're not really _here._ "

"What is this, fucking riddles?!" he snapped.

"We both know that you're not who you used to be. What happened to the man I married?" Tears of mascara helplessly ran down her cheeks as she stared at him, failing to reconcile the man in front of her with the one she loved, the one who would passionately talk about old movies to her, who would flirt in cheesy clichés.

"He's gone!" Michael yelled, fists clenched at his sides. "He's been gone for a long time and he's not gonna come back!" He reached for the bottle of whiskey again, staggering a little as he did so.

She looked at him in disgust. "You're gonna make yourself sick."

A bitter laugh came from his lips, fingers in a death grip around his glass. "I already am. I'm sick of your attitude, I'm sick of you banging every guy you can find, and I'm sick of this fuckin' game we play!" The glass crushed beneath his hand, glass shards and whiskey going everywhere. Michael just let out a deep, regretful breath as he calmly walked over to the first aid kit and wrapped a bandage around his now-bleeding hand.

"That's nice, dear. Really nice," she said in defeat. "I'm going to bed. Feel free to sleep on the couch tonight."

"Fine." He turned around and grabbed his car keys from the table.

"Where are you going?" she asked, sighing.

His jaw twitched in barely concealed annoyance. "Out."

"Just tell me."

"It's not important," he muttered.

"I just want to know if and when I need to call your friends to make sure you're not dead somewhere!" Her voice had escalated to a shout by the end of the sentence.

Michael angrily turned around to face her. "You're not an FIB agent! You don't get to know where I am all day! Jesus…"

She wiped the tears away from her eyes. "You are really pathetic, Michael. Pathetic."

"Yep…" he said under his breath as she turned around and walked away from him. He didn't bother coming after her. She made it all the way into the bedroom before hearing the front door slam and his car peeling out of the driveway. She buried her face into her pillow before letting herself cry again.

Eventually, when her sobs subsided, she sat up and put her face in her hands before pulling them away in disgust. Through her blurry haze of tears and anger, she stared down at the wedding ring on her finger. All she could see was Michael's huge smile when he first slipped that ring onto her finger so many years ago. They'd been so in love then, so happy...and now look at them…

She pulled the ring from her finger and threw it as hard as she could across the room. It bounced to the floor, but she didn't lift her head to see where it landed, instead laying back down and shutting her eyes, feeling fresh tears well up in them as she wondered where they went wrong.

* * *

He came back a few hours later. She could tell that he'd had a bit too much to drink by the scent of alcohol following him, his muffled curses as he struggled with the door. "Fuckin' A…" he slurred when he finally got the door open.

She sat up, squinting through the pitch black of the room, coupled with the fact that she didn't have her contacts in. A part of her wanted to yell at him for not sleeping on the couch, but judging by the way he was acting, he was too drunk to remember their fight. In all honesty, she was just too tired to argue with him anymore.

The light shone on his face, revealing his beat-up appearance. He was a mess, one eye blackened and blood glistening on his lips and clothes. Amanda couldn't help but feel that she was partly to blame for the fight he had obviously gotten into. "Where were you?" she asked, watching as he limped across the room.

"The bar," was his short reply before he disappeared into their closet and into the bathroom. She heard his muted grunts of pain followed by the sound of the shower turning on. A few minutes later, he emerged, bandaged and in clean clothes. The bed dipped slightly as he laid down next to her.

She shut her eyes and pretended to be asleep. Michael shifted restlessly next to her before eventually laying on his side facing her. He let out a deep, regretful sigh and wrapped an arm around her waist, not noticing the way her body tensed beneath him. "Fuck...I messed up…" he mumbled.

Her breath hitched in her throat. Was he finally beginning to realize what he'd done wrong…? She shook her head slightly at the ridiculous thought. It had to be the drunkenness talking, no way he'd say this kind of thing otherwise. She hoped that he didn't notice her heart practically pounding out of her chest.

"I'm such an asshole…" he continued. "An' now you hate me…"

"I don't hate you, Michael. I hate what you've turned into." The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them.

His arm instantly pulled away from her. "You-you're awake?" he stuttered.

"Yeah…" she whispered.

He started to panic a little. "Oh, uh, sorry 'bout that…"

"It's okay," she said shakily. She heard him move a little bit, then felt his hand tentatively run through her hair. Amanda shifted uncomfortably away from him. "Not in the mood, Michael."

He paused for a second, to move away, probably, but instead pressed his body against hers. "We don't need to do that...I don't even wanna do that. I just wanna hold you…jus' for a little bit," he murmured.

He sounded so innocent in that moment that she couldn't say no. She just nodded because she couldn't trust her mouth to form any more words.

Michael sighed in relief against her. "Thanks, Mandy…"

They laid there in silence for a few minutes until she turned on her side to face him. She gently held his jaw in her hand, stroking the bruises covering his stubbled jawline before biting her lip hesitantly. "What happened?"

"Drunk and stupid. Nothin' new." His voice sounded so tired, as if he hadn't slept for years. His hand grabbed her free one, black and blue knuckles resting over the spot where her wedding ring would be. "I'm fine."

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes as she stared at the empty space on her finger. Michael brushed them away before they had a chance to escape down her cheeks. "About earlier…" she started.

"What 'bout it?" he replied, reaching over and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"Did this fight have anything to do with what happened?" she asked.

"No," he shook his head forcefully.

"I don't want you getting into danger because of me-"

He cut her off quickly. "I got in danger 'cause of _me_ , okay? I'm just a worthless old fucker that always gets himself into stupid ass situations," he slurred angrily, not able to meet her eyes. His own sad blue eyes stared up at the ceiling, filled with regret and disappointment.

"You're more than that…" she pleaded desperately. Maybe tonight was the night where she'd make him realize that they could make things work, that they could be happy again. If she could just make him see...

"Maybe I used to be. Sure as hell ain't anymore," he laughed quietly, but it was nothing more than a bitter, hollow chuckle. "Look...thanks for trying to boost my self-confidence or whatever the hell you're doing...but we both know that this marriage is a fuckin' joke now."

She opened her mouth to say that it wasn't before shutting it again. Why bother? He wouldn't even remember this conversation in the morning and they'd go back to awkwardly avoiding each other like always. No matter how hard she tried, he wouldn't change. "I'm laughing on the inside," Amanda said sarcastically.

Michael just looked at her, sighing. He reached up and gently caressed her face with a love he hadn't shown her in years. "'Manda…" he murmured.

She swallowed nervously. This was the most open and affectionate he'd been in a long time. "Y-yeah?" she asked, voice trembling.

"Why did I hafta screw up everything good in our life…?" he mumbled sadly.

Amanda honestly didn't know how to respond to that. So many things had happened between them these last few years, a lot of them his fault, but she knew that a lot of things were her fault, too. "You didn't," she whispered.

He sighed in frustration. "Yes, I did...we wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for me. I've made a mess of everything since...since always-"

A sudden kiss to the lips cut off his protests. An unspoken agreement formed between them in that instant: no more arguing, no more fighting, just for a moment. Michael sat up, pulling her into his lap and pressing her against the headboard.

The taste of alcohol lingered on his tongue as it crushed against hers. He kissed her feverently, as if it was the last kiss they'd ever have, hands resting on her hips while hers sifted through his hair. Urgently, his mouth pulled away from hers and roamed along her neck, her jaw, stubble rough against her skin.

Eventually, he pulled away, breathing heavily and looking at her through regretful eyes. "I'm sorry…" he murmured sadly.

She rested her hands on his shoulders, fingers entangling in the fabric of his shirt. "For what?" she asked with a trembling voice.

"For all of this...we had somethin' good going on and I threw it all away…" his voice cracked slightly. His hand shook as he brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face. "All of it…" he whispered, eyes becoming distant and faraway.

Her hand reached up to cup his jaw and tilt his face up to hers. "Hey, look at me," she said before giving him a quick kiss. "I fucked up, too. I've done a lot of things that I regret, Michael. It's not all your fault."

Michael let out a deep breath and buried his head into her shoulder. "I'm sorry…" he repeated tiredly.

Amanda ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to calm him down. "It's okay…" she lied, feeling the tears running down her face.

They stayed like for a while until he pulled away and gave her a broken smile. "Thanks, sweetheart…" he said innocently. In that moment, he wasn't the man who had cheated on her and betrayed her. He wasn't her enemy. He was just that frustratingly charming, romantic boy that she used to know. Without thinking, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.

Her hands wandered up the front of his shirt, which he quickly shed before taking off her tank top. It was wrong, she knew, to take advantage of him when he was drunk like this, but she couldn't help it. It made her feel like they were normal again. Like they were young and in love again.

He laid her down and moved on top of her with a gentleness that she hadn't seen in a long time. Without breaking the kiss, he tugged her shorts and underwear off with one hand, the other caressing her face. She pulled away, gasping for breath, and struggled with the opening of his boxers.

Before she knew it, she was delicately pressing kisses to the bruises on his jaw before her lips moved up and brushed against his ear as she whispered encouragement to him. It was slow, slower than they were used to, but as loving and passionate as the day they got married.

Her hips arched under his ministrations and her ability to speak disappeared. Michael just smiled and increased his pace, encouraged by her incoherent moans. Every inch of her skin felt like it was on fire. It was nothing compared to what her tennis coach or any other guy she'd been with besides Michael made her feel.

For a second, he pulled back and stared down at her in wonderment. Strands of his hair had fallen into his forehead, stuck there with sweat, and he was panting as he murmured, "You're perfect…" He leaned down, his lips finding the side of her neck once again. "...you're perfect…" he repeated, voice muffled against her skin.

Amanda just pulled him closer, one hand gripping his hair while the other desperately clutched at the bedsheets. It felt like a dream, with her husband kissing her everywhere and whispering sweet nothings into her ear. If it was, she didn't want to wake up ever again. She whimpered pleadingly as he started to draw it out, started to tease her. "Michael, please…" she begged.

His dark blue eyes brightened. "Come on, baby."

That was all she needed. A few more seconds and her eyes rolled into the back of her head. The fire was put out, the heat between her legs cooling rapidly. Her body shook underneath him and he held her in his arms as she caught her breath, peppering her skin with kisses. She shut her eyes briefly, only opening them when she felt him move and get up.

"Be right back," he assured her before heading into their bathroom. A couple of minutes later, he returned, cleaned up and holding a damp washcloth in his hands.

Michael laid back down next to her and gently ran the washcloth along her body, silent as he cleaned her off. When he was done, he tossed it aside and turned onto his back, sighing in exhaustion.

She pulled his head into her lap, fingers threading through his damp hair. A low hum of contentment came from the back of his throat as he pressed his head into her palm. "I love you, 'Manda…" he slurred as his eyes fluttered shut.

"I know," she said calmly, hands still buried in his hair. She waited until he was asleep to say, "I love you, too…"

* * *

Amanda woke up the next morning feeling better than she had in months. Michael was still dead to the world when she got up, so she didn't bother him. She took in the state of their room, at their clothes littered on the floor, before getting dressed and going down into the kitchen.

She put on some coffee, impatiently waiting for it to be ready and nearly burning herself on her grateful first sip when it was ready. Halfway through her second cup, Michael came downstairs, looking exhausted. The stubble on his jaw was a bit thicker than usual and the bruises on his face looked worse than they did the previous night. "Good morning, Michael," she greeted with a hesitant smile.

He just looked at her in confusion. "Why are you so chipper?" he grunted as he poured his own mug. "Did you get off on yelling at me yesterday or something?"

Fear started to set in her. Yeah, he was drunk last night, but he couldn't have been drunk enough to forget everything. "Is that all you remember about last night?" she asked.

"No. I left and then got in this stupid fuckin' fight," he said, gesturing to his face, "then I got home and passed out."

A bitter taste formed in her mouth. All that had happened between him and the only thing he remembered was that dumb argument they had gotten into…

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Michael glared at her in suspicion.

She sighed sadly. "Like what?"

"I'm too hungover for this shit…" he muttered under his breath. "Did I do something dumb when I got home or…?"

Amanda stared at him helplessly. Whatever glimpses she had seen of the man she was with last night was gone, replaced by a bitter, angry shell of himself. Maybe she had been right after all, that he wouldn't change. She'd been stupid enough to think that one drunken night that he didn't even know existed would be the thing that would save their relationship. She swallowed hard, trying to keep herself from crying. "Nothing," she said shakily. "You did nothing, Michael."


	16. Movie Night

_I feel like after last update, some fluff was much needed so here's an idea I've been meaning to do, where Michael and Amanda have a movie night, or as I like to call it: the one where Michael is a complete adorable dork about movies. Based off of this conversation from the game:_

" _We used to watch movies, remember?"_

" _We used to fuck, we used to talk, we used to care."_

" _Always on video cassette...and then I pulled that score, remember? And I got the laser-disc."_

" _Fuck your nostalgia."_

* * *

It would have been so easy to refuse him, to say that they needed the money for other things, so easy if he wasn't looking at her with an excited glint in his blue eyes and a hopeful smile on his face. "Michael, you know that we have other things to worry about…" she said, gesturing to the room where their baby girl was sleeping.

"I know, Amanda, but I just pulled that score a couple weeks ago. And we have the savings…plus won't it be nice to not watch movies on that shitty cassette player anymore?" he asked pleadingly, those eyes gazing at her enthusiastically.

"Yeah, but-" she started before he gently pressed a kiss to her lips.

"We'll be fine," he smiled at her reassuringly. "We always are. Have I ever let you down?"

Amanda smirked at him. "Oh, I can think of a few times…" she said teasingly.

"The point is that I've always made up for it," he recovered quickly. "So what d'you think?"

"Fine," she sighed. "Only because I'm pretty tired of that cassette player…"

His face lit up in excitement. "Love you, darling," he gave her another quick kiss before getting up and putting his coat on.

"Babe, it's practically a blizzard outside. You're really gonna go out and get this right now?" she raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"After all of the shit I've done and you're worried about me going out in a little bit of snow?" Michael chuckled.

"Well, with the way that you drive…" she muttered under her breath.

"What was that?" he asked with a playful grin.

"I was just saying how good of a driver you are," she said, looking up at him innocently.

"Uh-huh, sure. I'll be back in a bit," he grabbed his car keys and left.

She laughed to herself quietly after he was gone. For such a tough bank robber, he really was sentimental.

* * *

Michael practically burst through the front door, a bag in his arms. "Mandy, I got it!" he panted as he put it down on the table. He ran a hand through his dark hair, brushing the snow off.

"Yes, you did," she watched in amusement as her husband opened the box inside the bag and triumphantly pulled out the DVD player.

Smirking, he carried it over to the living room. "So, are you gonna help me with this thing or not?"

"I think I'll just sit here and admire the view," she said from the couch, staring at him as he bent over to set it up.

"Very funny…" he muttered sarcastically. She watched him in admiration, at the concentrated look on his face and the way his deft fingers carefully plugged in the wires. Too lost in her thoughts, she barely registered him standing up and turning to face her. "Okay...that should be about it. Amanda…?"

"W-what?" She didn't even notice how intently she'd been staring at him until he said her name, an amused look on his face.

"Nothin'," he shook his head with a cocky smile. "Guess you were admiring the view…"

A blush spread up her cheeks before she could stop it. "So, what are you gonna do now? It's not like we have any movies for this thing yet."

"That is where you are wrong, my darling," he crossed over to the bag and pulled out a brand-new movie.

"Oh no…" she groaned and rested her head against the couch. "I thought maybe I could escape from your corniness for one night."

"Ah, I could never let that happen," Michael teased. "Besides, I have a good feeling about this one."

Amanda sighed in defeat and got up. "I'll make the popcorn."

Blue eyes brightened in victory. "Atta girl!" he said enthusiastically.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood tonight, Townley," she muttered, though a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Michael came up behind her and pressed a kiss to the exposed part of her neck. "Love you…" he whispered in her ear.

She turned around to face him and gave him a quick kiss to the lips. "I love you, too. Now go get this movie ready."

"Alright," he said and went back into the living room.

"What's it even about?" she asked from the kitchen. She swore if she had to suffer through watching Vinewood Zombie one more time, she'd scream...

"Uh...it's set in a sanitorium in the 1920's. That's about all I know," he admitted, turning on the TV.

"Real specific," she said sarcastically.

"Aw, c'mon, babe. I have to put up with your rom-coms, can't we watch something that I like?" he pleaded.

"Don't pretend that you don't love them, Michael. I know that you've stolen some lines from some of them," she smirked as she sat down next to him.

He reached into the bowl of popcorn on her lap, frowning. "Okay, maybe a few weren't that bad..." he mumbled through a mouthful of popcorn.

"Sure," she said. "One day I'll get you to admit that you're a hopeless romantic at heart."

"Yeah, maybe one day far away from today…" he said with a chuckle, reaching over and dimming the lights. "Let's get this started."

Amanda smiled and nuzzled up against his chest. Before the previews even started, he faked a yawn and wrapped an arm around her, earning an eye roll from her. "Michael, darling," she started with a laugh, "we're married. You do know that you don't need to do that, right?"

He just shrugged. "You weren't complaining when I did this on one of our first dates," he pointed out.

"I thought it was cute. Cheesy, but cute," she admitted. It was one of the first things she had ever noticed about him, that old-fashioned style of romance. Sure, it was corny and cliché, but it was something that she loved about him. It had amused her how a man who led the life he did could be so gentle around her.

"And what about now?" he whispered, lips brushing against her ear. His other arm wrapped around her, pausing briefly at her waist before his hand moved to grab some popcorn.

"Now I like it even more," she said and turned around to face him before giving him a kiss on the cheek. Michael just grinned at her and pulled her closer, about to bring his lips down to hers before the movie started and pulled his attention away from her.

She sighed slightly at the failed kiss. She loved that he was passionate about movies, she really did. The small town's only movie theater was practically his second home and she swore that they'd seen every movie there at least twice. Sometimes, though, much to her frustration, he got a little too distracted by them.

After about a half hour into the movie, she started to zone out a little bit. Michael was warm and comfortable against her, the popcorn was almost gone, and she honestly didn't really share his excitement for movies. If she had to admit it, she watched them with him mostly because she found the way he got so intense and that little glint he got in his eyes when talking about him to be adorable. It wasn't often that he was that enthusiastic, but when he was, it was kind of amazing.

She looked up at him, reveling in the contentedness of his eyes, the carefree set of his shoulders. It had been a while since she'd seen him so relaxed, at least since she'd gotten pregnant. A small smile crossed her face as she stared at him.

Michael took notice, smirking at her. He gently took her face in his hand and tilted it towards the TV. "Hon, I'll be here all day," he reminded her. "The movie's almost over."

"Fine…" she pouted slightly but turned her attention towards the movie, anyway.

* * *

"What the fuck did we just watch?!" Amanda asked in disbelief. She threw a piece of popcorn at the TV, a disgusted look on her face. Admittedly, she had paid attention to the last part of the movie. Now she was wishing that she hadn't.

Michael frowned at her. "Language," he warned her, gesturing to Tracey's room.

"That's funny coming from you," she said, throwing a piece of popcorn at him, which he easily caught in his mouth with a smug smile.

"Babe, it wasn't that bad. Had a lot of good lines, too…" A thoughtful look crossed his face. "'We forget a thousand things every day.' I kinda like that…"

She groaned, putting her face in her hands. "Please tell me that you're not gonna quote that all the time."

"Maybe," he grinned at her devilishly.

"Michael, I know that you have a really fucked up taste in movies, but you have to admit that that one was weird," she pleaded. "I mean, there was a _talking dog_ , for god's sakes."

A sigh escaped him as he pulled her closer. "I love you, Mandy, even though you have no idea what you're talking about."

" _I_ don't know what I'm talking about?!" she echoed, voice rising slightly in anger. "Maybe I just have normal taste-"

Her protests were cut off by the sound of Tracey starting to cry from the other room. Amanda just let out a deep breath and started to get up before Michael stood up. "I got it."

He came back holding Tracey in his arms. "Hey, baby girl…" he whispered, grinning down at her. "Sorry your mother has terrible taste…"

Amanda had been afraid of how he'd react to getting her pregnant. A bank robber wouldn't have any interest in having a kid, right? But looking at how happy he was now, she couldn't believe that she ever had a doubt in her mind.

Within a minute or two, her crying had stopped and she was staring up at her father lovingly. Whatever he did calmed her down instantly, meanwhile whatever Amanda did only made things worse. "Unbelievable…" she muttered under her breath.

"Honestly, I don't get why you think this is so hard, babe…" Michael said.

"Maybe it's just your natural charm," she quipped, moving to stand next to him.

"Right…" he said with a smirk. "Anyway, back to the movie thing, that talking dog was _symbolic_ , babe."

She scoffed. "Symbolic for what, exactly? The writers doing drugs?"

"Hell, I dunno. I probably won't until I watch it ten more times. Look...this is what movies should be like…" he started to pace the living room, that enthusiasm creeping into his voice. "A plot so tangled that you don't have a clue what's going on even after watching it so many times. Not that sickly sweet, dumbed down stuff that Vinewood keeps pumping out now."

She nodded with a smile crossing her face. "I like your way of thinking, Townley. Now that that's over with, did you buy any other movies?"

Michael's eyes lit up in excitement as he pulled out another DVD. "I was hoping that you'd ask that…"

* * *

 _A/N: By the way, the movie that they watched was Arthur Penny's Sanitorium, where Michael gets his famous quote. It has a pretty weird and interesting story from what I read about it on the GTA wiki._


	17. Storms

_So sorry for the missed updates again D: School has been kicking my ass recently. Luckily, I'm almost done with school and the uploads will be back to normal again! I got the idea for this chapter, unsurprisingly, as it was raining outside. In this chapter, Michael really doesn't like rain and Amanda tries to change his mind a few times through the years._

* * *

Lightning tore through the North Yankton sky, the forks of electricity illuminating the darkening clouds before fading out of existence. Rain pounded down, the roof rattling with the force.

Amanda looked out the window in awe at it, a content smile on her face. She watched the sky break itself apart, watched the raindrops roll down the glass of the window. She'd always liked the rain, ever since she was little.

Michael, however, frowned behind her. "Why do you like this so much?" he asked in a confused voice.

"I'd rather have rain than snow," she scoffed. "I just think it's pretty. You know, babe, why _don't_ you like this?"

"PTSD from when I was a kid?" he quipped, sitting down on the couch beside her.

"Why, did you get struck by lightning or something?" she asked sarcastically.

He shifted uncomfortably and scratched the back of his neck. "No, surprisingly. My father...he, uh, didn't like storms. Said they put him in a bad mood...which he took out on me."

A bitter taste formed in her mouth, throat becoming dry. It was only a couple of days ago that he'd told her about his abusive childhood and she could see how much it really affected him. He'd told her that it didn't, but she could see the way his voice became pained when talking about it, the way his eyes became distant. "You know you didn't have to tell me that," she said softly, reaching over and gripping his hand reassuringly.

"Yeah," he said. "I know." Thunder boomed outside, masking his sigh. He stared out of the window with a sad grimace on his face.

Amanda bit her lip as she looked at him before a small smile crossed her face, a plan forming in her mind. She stood up, tugging him along with her. "Come on."

Michael hesitantly let her drag him up from the couch. "What're you doing…?" he muttered.

"I am showing you that rain isn't all bad," she replied cheerfully. With her free hand, she opened the door and led him out into the storm. A grin crossed her face when the cool rain met her skin.

He just stood there in shock as the water poured over his head, drenching him. A sulky pout formed on his face, a sharp contrast to her excited smile.

"By what? Making me freeze my ass off?" he spluttered through chattering teeth. He crossed his arms across his chest, his wet shirt accentuating the muscles in his forearms. Black strands of hair stuck to his face with water and he was glaring at her through squinted blue eyes.

"Michael, I love you, but you are so fucking negative!" she sighed in exasperation. Her hand reached up to run through her wet hair. "Not everything needs to be so serious, you know."

"Bitter experiences have taught me, babe," he deadpanned. In a hopeless gesture, he wrung out the bottom of his shirt in an attempt to dry himself off before looking back up at her, sighing.

"Well, let's make some new ones then," she said. "First of all, forget about your asshole dad because he's not worth your time. Second, relax. It's water, not poison. I think you can live with your perfect hair getting a little wet."

"Ah, I don't know about that," he chuckled, sweeping his hair back from his forehead. Despite that, his shoulders relaxed and he allowed himself a small smirk. "So now what?"

"Now we act like we're in one of your god-awful romance movies," she whispered before burying a hand in his hair and kissing him.

Strong arms wrapped around her waist as he pulled her against him. Warm drops of water ran down his lips, his mouth tasting of rain against hers. Hands gripped onto wet clothes and his body felt warm against hers despite the cold.

Amanda pulled apart just far enough to catch her breath and she was panting as she asked, "So what do you think about the rain now?"

A flash of teeth greeted her when Michael smiled down at her. "I think it's beautiful," he murmured, pulling her into another kiss.

The electricity she felt during the kiss was nothing compared to the lightning. She forgot about the cold for a minute, the warmth and comfort of him drowning it out. His blue eyes looked down at her lovingly and he seemed to have forgot about the rain, too. He pressed himself closer to her and started moving them backwards towards the door, only stopping when her back met the door. Impatient lips met the side of her neck while she tried her best to struggle with the doorknob.

Finally, she got it open, much to his relief, and pulled him over to the couch. He fell over the armrest onto his back, with her falling on top of him. A small giggle escaped her as he untangled himself from the couch and her before she leaned down to kiss him. Their foreheads touched as their soft lips met each other's. Amanda's hands wrapped around the back of his neck while his traveled up to her waist, burning hot against her wet clothes.

Michael had just started tugging at her shirt before she pulled back, grinning at him and standing up. "I don't wanna get the couch wet, too," she said, gesturing to the growing water puddle on it. He glanced down at the couch and himself before scrambling to get up. She observed the drops of water that they were dripping on the floor and shivered slightly. "I need to get in the shower before I catch or cold or something."

"Alright," he smiled at her and stood there awkwardly as she walked towards their bathroom.

Amanda turned around, frowning at him. "Aren't you gonna join me, Michael?" she asked with an expectant look on her face.

A sheepish look formed on his face. "Oh, yeah, of course…" he stammered, practically sprinting over to her in his haste, one thought forming in his mind, _maybe the rain isn't that bad..._

* * *

"Of course this had to happen on the one fuckin' day we had to ourselves…" Michael muttered to himself, struggling to open the umbrella in his hands. "C'mon, you motherfu-"

Before he could finish his curse, the umbrella broke, no match for the force of the increasing wind and his own strength. Amanda just sighed next to him. "Well, I guess we're just going to have to make a run for it," she said, looking up at the overcast sky and the rain starting to fall.

"This is not how I thought this day was gonna go…" he muttered in disappointment before instinctively shrugging off his jacket and putting it around her shoulders.

The kids were with her mother for the weekend, giving them some alone time that they hadn't gotten since they were born. Between that and the fact that he'd been away a lot for doing heists, it was a much-needed relief.

A small smile formed on her face at the gesture. "Thanks, darling, but I don't want you to get sick." She looked at him, with only a t-shirt on and the broken umbrella held loosely in his hand, and then up the pelting rain with a concerned look.

"I've been through worse," he chuckled. "Besides, the longer we argue about it, the longer I have to stand out in this."

"Fine…" she conceded. She flipped the hood over her head and wrapped the jacket around her shoulders tightly, inhaling the smoky scent of him. "My hero, bravely protecting me from the rain," she teased.

"Yeah, I'm a regular knight in shining armor," he laughed bitterly, staring at the puddles he splashed through as he walked along the path.

Amanda gripped his hand reassuringly. "You are to me," she whispered.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he said softly, wrapping his hand tightly around hers.

The park was in chaos around them. The trees shook with the wind, leaves being ripped violently from the branches. Thunder echoed in the sky with a flash of lightning appearing in the distance.

"You know, this feels kinda familiar," she said, eyes twinkling as she remembered a rainy day almost ten years ago.

"Except that time, you dragged my ass into the rain," he reminded her.

"...and you loved it," she finished with a smirk.

"Maybe a little," he admitted with a small laugh.

She eyed his soaked appearance and the grin on his face. "I don't think you mind it now."

Michael just shrugged. "You know, it's really not that bad, babe."

Her grip on the jacket around her tightened. "I'd love to join you, but unlike you, I wanna stay dry." Calculating blue eyes flickered over to the coat. "Michael…" she warned.

"Huh..." he muttered thoughtfully, stepping a bit closer to her.

She moved back a bit. "Stop."

He took a step forward. "Stop what?" he asked innocently.

"Stop-" her protest was cut off by strong arms wrapping around her and tickling her sides mercilessly. The jacket was took from her shoulders and she was left standing in the downpour as Michael took off running with it gripped in his hands, laughing in victory.

Amanda just stood there in shock, sighing in anger, and brushed the wet strands of hair away from her face before sprinting after him. Michael's longer legs outran her with ease, the gap between them increasing the longer she chased after him. He glanced over his shoulder at her, not seeing the patch of ice in front of him, and slipped, falling onto his back. "Fuck…" he groaned in pain.

"Karma's a bitch, babe," she panted once she caught up, grinning in satisfaction.

"Yeah, yeah…" he muttered, frowning up at her. He grimaced slightly as he sat up.

"Oh, stop pouting. You're barely thirty, it's not like you're fifty," she said as she helped him up.

The freezing rain kept his fingers interlaced with hers. A small smile quirked at his lips when he stood up. His blue eyes stared softly into hers, full of amusement and love. The look that he was giving her distracted her from everything around them.

When another bolt of lightning lit up the sky, they both jumped in shock at the sudden noise, their brief reverie gone. Michael laughed nervously and ran a hand through his wind-ruffled hair, while she just stood there. She didn't snap out of her daze until he held the jacket in front of her, a small smirk on his face. "Think you need this," he said when he saw her eyebrows raised in question.

"I think you're a little late for that," Amanda said, shaking from the cold, before looking down at her soaked clothes. "You're gonna need to make this up to me, Townley."

A low chuckle came from him as he put his lips to her ear and whispered, "How about when we get home?"

She glared at him. "I'm going to be too cold to do anything."

"Oh, I can warm you up, babe," he grinned confidently at her with a smug look on his face.

"Smooth, Michael," she said sarcastically, even as a small smile formed before she could stop it.

"Ah, I try to be," he replied, grasping her hand again and starting to walk further along the path. He glanced up to the dark, angry sky for a moment before turning to face her. "It's not that bad out, huh?"

"Yeah," she agreed, nuzzling up to his arm, "It's nice."

* * *

"You know, I thought we moved here to get away from this weather," he mused, trying to avoiding the puddles growing on the sidewalk of Vinewood Boulevard. Michael held the black umbrella above their heads with a disappointed frown on his face.

Amanda looked down at the ground, carefully stepping around the pools of water in her high heels. "You used to like this, babe," she reminded him.

"Yeah, well, people change," he said with a shrug, staring ahead at the cars racing through the streets and the way the lights blurred from the rain.

"I guess, like how you used to be fun," she smiled teasingly at him.

"Ha, ha," he deadpanned, "tonight was fun, right? I know you didn't seem too happy..." he said defensively.

"Michael, darling, I love you and I'm _so_ glad that you're happy at your job," she started, "but you can't blame me for being sick of hearing about Meltdown after you've dragged me to see it a hundred times."

"We won Best Picture!" he said excitedly, a huge grin on his face. "Aren't you happy about that?"

"I'd be a lot happier if I'd only seen it once or twice…" she said under her breath.

He looked over at her with a defeated look, not noticing the car speeding along the road or the huge puddle that they were standing next to. "Fair enough-" he started before the car drove by and into the puddle, soaking him. Michael just stood there, fist clenched at his side and jaw ticking in anger. "Motherfucker…" he growled, looking down at his drenched tuxedo.

Amanda rested her hand on his arm reassuringly, feeling the tense muscles beneath her fingers. "Relax," she said softly. "It's not like we can't afford a new one."

Slowly, he calmed down a little bit, shoulders loosening as he let out a deep breath. "I guess..." He tried to shake some of the water off pointlessly. "You know, this felt a lot more fun twenty years ago."

"Everything felt more fun twenty years ago," she pointed out. "I would join you in your misery, but, you know," she gestured to the dress that she was wearing.

"Damn…" he said sarcastically, eyeing the dark clouds and wincing slightly at the booms of thunder above them. "Could be worse though…"

She scoffed in disbelief. "Like what? A tsunami?"

"Well, at least it's not snow," Michael replied with a smirk.

She smiled a little as if recalling some distant memory. "Yeah, I agree…"

Still looking up at the dark sky in awe, he watched as forks of lightning appeared in the distance. "You know...I think it's kinda beautiful."

Amanda reached over to grab his hand, still warm against hers despite the rain, and met his smiling gaze. "Me too…"


	18. Breaking The News

_So many story ideas, such little time…soon I'll finally be able to finish those ideas. Anyways, this is an idea I've had for a while now, where the two tell each other "I love you" for the first time…with a small twist of course… Enjoy the chapter as always :D (P.S. I added a new cover to the story)_

* * *

"Remind me why I let you plan this thing," Michael growled, panting as he climbed over the fence. A wince crossed his face as he heard the shots crack at his feet.

"Because you trust your best friend?" Trevor grinned maniacally, paying no attention to the police chasing them. To his left, Brad, who had joined them on their jobs only recently, struggled his way over the fence. Michael really didn't trust the guy, but Trevor liked him, that had to mean something.

"You can't manage a simple fuckin' cargo run without having the cops show up!" Michael yelled as he ran, halfheartedly firing a couple shots behind him.

"Quit your whining, M!" the psychopath shouted. "Car's right across this river!" He started running across, only a thin sheet of ice separating them from the dark water.

Michael shakily stepped onto the frozen river, half expecting the ice to break underneath him at any moment. "I don't know about this…" he muttered, trying to cross it as carefully as he could while still trying to hold off the police that were gaining on them, judging by a quick glance over his shoulder.

Suddenly, a cruel smirk appeared on one of the cops faces as he looked at the thief's feet. Michael didn't even have time to move before the ice was shot from underneath him, sending him into the water.

He immediately felt nothing but paralyzing cold, feeling it seep into every part of him. He instinctively tried to gasp for air, rewarding him a mouthful of water. A helpless look up only showed more darkness, as if the river had swallowed him in ice. The gun strapped to his back only succeeded in pulling him further down. Michael became absently thankful that he wasn't the one carrying the heavy weight of the cash.

Trevor had probably abandoned him, he realized as time passed, either because it was too risky to go back for him or maybe he just wanted the money. There was no honor among thieves, he guessed.

 _So this is how I die_ , he mused as his vision started to fade around the edges. He always thought he'd die young ever since he started his line of work, but now that it was happening he couldn't help but think of how disappointing it was. How disappointing that he'd go out after barely turning twenty-three. How disappointing it was that his girlfriend probably wouldn't even have a body to bury. How he didn't even get a chance to tell her how he really felt about her.

 _He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I'll only be gone a few days, babe."_

" _I know but… please be careful, Michael…" she murmured, hands caressing his face._

" _I promise, Amanda."_

Maybe he couldn't keep that promise after all, he noted numbly. A sudden burst of energy shot through him as he remembered their last conversation. He needed to get out of this, even to just see her one last time. Michael tried to thrash further upwards, his strength too faded to make quick progress. It would have been so much easier to give up, to just let himself drown but he kept going until he found the top, only to have his head to hit more ice. A strangled growl tore out of his throat as he helplessly punched at it.

 _I'm sorry_ , he thought, his sight almost consumed by the darkness. Almost, until he saw something out of the corner of his eye. _Amanda_. He swore he could see her bright blue eyes through the water, could see her lips turned up in an angelic smile. It obviously wasn't really her, just some hallucination his oxygen-deprived brain tortured him with, but he wanted to pretend for just a little bit longer.

His lungs felt like they were being crushed and he wondered if he could even move his arms and legs at this point. He managed to keep his eyes open despite the water burning into them. Her hand reached out for his cheek and as soon as he felt her touch, he felt a tugging at the collar of his jacket.

A bright light suddenly assaulted him as he felt himself being pulled up. At first, he thought he had miraculously made it into heaven, at least until he saw Trevor leaning over him, a concerned look on his face. "I should have known your fat ass would have fallen through!" his best friend snarled.

Michael collapsed on his knees, coughing out the cold water. "Wasn't...that…" he gasped through his chattering teeth as Trevor hauled him back up to his feet.

"Hurry up!" Brad growled as he fired his rifle wildly in the direction of the cops. Michael glared at him as he shakily started running towards the getaway car.

"Not on my watch," Trevor said when Michael tried to get in the driver's seat, roughly pushing him to the passenger side. "You're still weak, stay low."

"Hey, fuck you, too, bro," Michael replied, shivering as he immediately turned up the heat. He listened to the sounds of sirens fade into the distance as they drove away.

"It's fuckin' hot in here," Brad complained from the back seat.

"I'm sorry, did you almost freeze to death?" Michael asked sarcastically, turning it up higher for good measure. He took off his mask and ran a hand through his damp hair. His gaze shifted to the rearview mirror to assess the damage. His skin was ghostly white, lips a pale blue. He let out an exhausted sigh, shutting his eyes as he rested his head against the window. _I'm so goddamn lucky_ , he reflected drowsily.

* * *

"Hey, we're here," Trevor said as he shook Michael awake. Michael looked around tiredly before seeing that they were stopped outside of his trailer. "You drifted off on the drive over. Almost dying must have taken a lot outta you!"

"That was too close, T," Michael muttered, getting out of the car. He started to walk towards his trailer on his unsteady legs.

Trevor leaned out of the car window. "You ain't gonna invite your friends inside for drinks, Mikey?" he yelled.

"Ah, screw you, Trevor, I'll see you tomorrow," Michael called back as he went inside. His knees immediately buckled as he shut the door behind him and he had to lean against the door to stay upright. "Fuck…" he groaned, shaking uncontrollably. He swore he could still feel the ice encasing him, the water filling his lungs and mouth. A shiver ran through him when he thought about what would have happened to him if Trevor had been just a minute later.

When he felt like his legs could finally support him, he staggered into the bathroom and peeled off his wet clothes before turning the shower on. He stood under the downpour, slowly feeling the scalding water loosen his stiff muscles.

After one of the longest showers of his life, he got out and dried himself off. He looked at himself in the mirror, feeling relieved to see that he looked slightly less like a ghost. Michael had just wrapped a towel around his waist when he heard a knock at the door. "Aw, crap..." he muttered under his breath, barely sparing enough time to get dressed before going to the door. His eyes darted towards his pistol for a brief moment before deciding against it. The police wouldn't knock, he decided as he opened it.

"You look like shit, babe," Amanda greeted.

Michael frowned as he pulled her inside. "What are you doing here?" he asked in a low voice.

"Nice to see you, too," she said sarcastically. "We need to talk."

"Mandy, if you're breaking up with me, now is really not the time…" he said with a hollow chuckle.

"I'm not breaking up with you, you insecure dick," she shot a glare at him and crossed her arms across her chest.

"Then what is it?" he asked, voice rising as he ran a towel through his hair. "How many times have I told you that it's dangerous to be seen with me after a job?"

"About a million," she muttered under her breath, "but that was almost a week ago, Michael."

"Amanda," he exhaled slowly in frustration, "you really don't get how risky this line of work is."

"Yes, I _do_ , but fuck me for missing you, I guess," she snapped, starting for the door. "Goodbye, Michael."

"Baby, wait. I missed you, too," he grabbed her hand with a regretful sigh.

She turned to face him. "You sure aren't acting like it," she said angrily, even though she relaxed slightly.

"I, ah...I'm sorry…" he managed. "I'm just on edge. I had a really close fuckin' call earlier and it made me realize how dangerous this shit really is."

Amanda laughed bitterly. "You're just realizing this now?

"Yep..." his voice grew quiet.

"What happened to you, anyway?" she frowned at him, looking him up and down.

"I trusted Trevor," he said with a crooked smirk.

"There's your first mistake…" she said with a bitter laugh.

"Yeah, I know, but this could've been different. All I could think about was how I love you, and how I can't have you getting hurt because of my stupid mistakes!" He became so lost in his rant that he didn't notice the grin slowly spreading across her face or how she leaned in to gently press her lips against his.

It was soft and slow, a stark contrast to their usual kisses. The smile he felt against his lips lingered on her face long after she broke the kiss. He looked at her in confusion as she pulled away. "I love you, too," Amanda whispered.

Michael felt his cheeks grow warm. "Uh...I…" he stammered as he stared at her, at a loss for words.

"You don't need to say anything. You're such a damn softie," she smiled softly up at him. "Took you long enough to say it…"

"Wish I would've said it earlier," he admitted. The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly as he hesitantly smirked at her. "I love you, Amanda…" The words felt familiar on his lips, as if he'd spent his whole life saying them.

"Michael Townley," she started, pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek. "I love you." Those teasing lips wandered over to his jaw before meeting his lips once again with hitched breath.

This time was a bit rougher. Their tongues danced with their usual fervor, but with a newfound relief, one that they'd been holding in for weeks. Her hands felt burning hot against his pale skin and the damp tufts of hair that she tugged at.

A low growl started in Michael's throat from the contact. His impatient arms effortlessly looped around her thighs and lifted her up. Without breaking the kiss, he hastily lifted her onto the nearest surface, only stopping when her back slammed against the kitchen cabinet with a dull thud. Slowly, his lips left a trail of kisses down her neck, feeling encouraged by his girlfriend's moans beneath him.

Deft fingers had just started to make their way underneath her shirt when she put her hands on his chest. "Wait," Amanda panted as she pulled away from the kisses. "I need to tell you something."

"Anything," he breathed out, his voice thick with lust and desire. Between those bright eyes staring back at him and that adorable way that she hesitantly held her bottom lip between her teeth, he was fairly sure that she could have told him to jump off of a bridge and he would have happily obliged.

"I don't know if you're gonna like this…" she started nervously.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure that we'll figure it out," he said softly. His hand gripped hers tightly for reassurance.

She stared down at the floor. "Michael, I…I'm…" her voice shook as she shifted uncomfortably from her perch on his kitchen counter. "I'm pregnant." When her eyes finally met his again, they were full of fear and desperation.

He staggered back slightly with a look of disbelief on his face. "Are...are you sure?"

"I went to the doctor this morning…" she whispered, nodding.

"Fuck...you-you're on the pill though, right?" he asked with his voice almost pleading.

"I forgot to take it. And let's face it, we were never the most careful about using protection," she admitted bitterly.

"You forgot to take it, of fucking course…" he muttered, but behind his mask of frustration was all fear. He sat down on the couch with a frustrated moan and put his head in his hands. "Fuck...what're we gonna do? We're barely in our twenties, we don't know what the hell we're doing. And our jobs..."

"I can go back to the doctor tomorrow, I can make an appointment-" she began before he cut her off.

"Hon, no, we don't have to do that…" he sighed.

"Well, what else are we gonna do?!" she asked angrily. Tears started to glisten in her miserable eyes.

"I don't know…" he muttered. His features were set in a tight grimace before a thoughtful look formed on his face. "Quit your job at the strip club. You're gonna need to once you start showing, anyway. Come live here, with me," he pleaded.

"But what about you?" she murmured.

"What about me?"

She looked at him with a sad smile. "You already work enough as it is. And if I'm not working…"

"I'll be fine," he insisted. "A couple extra jobs won't hurt me. We can do this, darling. Just you, me, and our kid…"

"I didn't take you for such a domestic type, Townley," she said teasingly as she got down from the counter and joined him on the couch, resting her head on his shoulder. "Can't say I'm not surprised, though."

"You learn something new every day, but…we're not our parents, Amanda. We're not gonna turn into our families…" he said softly.

"I know," she said before finally meeting his gaze. "Okay. We can do your idea, but promise me one thing, Michael."

Michael was tempted to tell her that even if her breath wasn't warm and sweet against his neck and that even if her soft hair wasn't tickling his shoulders, he would have promised her anything in the world. All he could manage was a faint nod of agreement.

Amanda slipped her hands into his hair and pulled him closer so that their lips brushed against each other's when she whispered, "Promise me that you'll be careful, promise me that I won't lose you…"

Looking into her eyes, he could see her real meaning. Meaning that she wouldn't lose him to a heist, to jail, even to his own friends. "I promise you, that with every fiber of my being, that I'll do whatever it takes to make sure that doesn't happen. I never wanna lose you either. I love you, Amanda."

He could feel her sigh in relief against him, pleased with his answer. "I love you, too, Michael…" she murmured.

In the quiet that followed, he allowed himself to forget about the close call earlier, about her pregnancy, but never about the promise he'd just made to her. He'd do anything for her, anything as long as they'd never lose each other.

Michael stared out of the window at the snow falling outside and focused on the sound of Amanda's heart thumping against his body and, just for a moment, let himself think about their forever.


	19. Complications

_It's been a while! . I've been busy with school so I haven't been able to write, but thankfully school is over and I can finally get back to updating regularly. In one of my chapters where Michael and Amanda go on their first date, there's a throwaway line about Trevor interrupting one of their first attempts at dating. I started to think about that line a lot and made it into a chapter. Enjoy :D_

* * *

Michael looked nervously at the phone number written on the scrap of paper in his hand. It had only been a few days since he'd met the most gorgeous girl he'd ever laid eyes on at a strip club, but to him it may as well have been weeks. As he stood there, staring at the phone, he heard the front door burst open. He jumped in shock, frantic hands scrambling to grab his gun, before seeing who it was. "Jesus fuckin' Christ, T, don't you know how to knock?!" Michael growled angrily, letting out a deep breath.

Trevor just shrugged. "Eh, where's the fun in that? Besides, I like scaring the shit outta you," he chuckled. The psychopath casually walked over and stole a beer from Michael's fridge.

"So, why are you here, Trevor? I mean, other than scaring me and stealing my alcohol," Michael said sarcastically. He leaned against the kitchen counter and glared at his best friend.

"I came by here to remind you of that _thing_ that we need to do," Trevor said vaguely, in reference to the heist that they needed to prepare for.

"Alright, just, uh, give me a minute," Michael muttered awkwardly, still staring at the phone.

It was then that Trevor noticed the slip of paper that he was trying to hide in his hand and smirked against the beer bottle. "And what is this?" he said mockingly and took it from his hand, despite Michael's protests. "Amanda, huh? Isn't she that girl from the other day? I don't really remember, I was pretty smashed..."

"Yeah, she is...look, can I have that back now?" Michael asked anxiously, reaching for the number.

"Hold on, I'm not done yet." Trevor lightly shoved him back. "Heh, she even drew a heart next to her name. You know, Mikey, these girls you meet off of drunk one-night stands usually don't turn out too well," he said, giving the paper back to him.

"Yeah, well, I have a good feeling about this one," Michael said. "Now, can you fuck off for a minute so I can call her?"

"Your wish is my command, General," Trevor mock saluted him before he walked out of the trailer back into the freezing cold.

"Fuckin' A…" Michael said under his breath before finally grabbing the phone and dialing the number.

She answered on the second ring. "Hello?" Amanda's voice sounded breathless over the phone.

"Uh, hey, " he started nervously. "It's Michael, from a few days ago…"

"Ah, the handsome charmer, how could I forget?" He could almost see the smirk on her face. "I was hoping that you'd call...it's not often that I give out my number to a guy I meet at the club."

"Guess I'm just lucky," he said smoothly. "So, I was hoping I could take you out to dinner or something…?"

She sighed on the other end. "I would love to, but I have to work late a lot this week. I'll tell you what, pick me up this Friday at eight from the club and we can grab some drinks? I know it's a kinda shitty first date, but in this town…"

A relieved grin formed on his face. "Nah, I think it's great. I'll see you then."

He heard her let out a deep breath and could tell that she was smiling, too. "Great. Goodbye, Michael."

"Cya," he said before setting the phone down with a self-satisfied chuckle. "Hell yeah…"

Trevor poked his head through the door. "I assume you got it?"

"Oh, I got it," Michael smirked. He grabbed his coat and followed his friend outside. "Now, let's go do that _thing._ "

* * *

Michael sat outside of the strip club, his fingers nervously tapping against the steering wheel of his car that was older than he was. He began to wonder why he was so anxious, he'd been on so many first dates before. Maybe it was the fact that he actually liked this girl and was interested in her for something besides sex. Or maybe it was the fact that he couldn't ever seem to find the right words to say around her.

He became so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't see her exit the club or her walking up to his car. It took her lightly tapping at his window for him to practically jump out of his seat in shock and unlock the car door.

Amanda laughed as she got into the car. "I see I scared you a little," she observed with a soft smile.

"Ah, maybe a little," he admitted. He was barely able to keep his eyes on the road, too focused on the wavy dark hair framing her pretty face and the vibrant blue eyes glowing in the darkness of the car. "You look beautiful, by the way."

A blush spread across her cheeks. "You're not looking too bad yourself. You clean up pretty well, Mr…?" she trailed off unsurely.

"Townley's my last name. And, thanks…" Michael scratched at his clean shaven jaw. "I look a bit better when I'm not nursing a hangover."

"So, what's your big plan for tonight, Townley?" she asked teasingly, staring out the window at the snow glimmering from the dim streetlights.

"Well, I was thinking we could talk over some drinks and see where the night takes us from there…" he started with a devilish glint in his eyes. "Does that sound good to you?"

Amanda nodded and looked over at him with an excited smile. "Sounds perfect."

* * *

"So, what's your drink?" Michael asked, starting to get up from their booth to head to the bar.

She just smirked at him. "Surprise me," Amanda said with a shrug.

He frowned slightly, taken aback by her reply. "Alright…" he said with a determined look on his face.

A few minutes later, he returned, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. "Figured you for a wine type of girl," he explained as he slid the drink across the table to her.

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "You figured right. Most guys just buy me shitty beer…" she admitted, one of her fingers running along the rim of the glass.

His lips smirked against his own drink. "Well, I'm not dumb like most guys. Uh, or not _as_ dumb…" he quickly corrected himself with a self-deprecating laugh.

"Right," she said with amusement in her voice. She looked across the table at him, cautious blue eyes studying him like they had the night they met a few days ago.

He noticed and nervously tapped his fingers against the table. "So, what's your story?" he asked.

Amanda laughed bitterly. "What is there to tell? I've been in this shitty town my whole life and I don't see myself ever getting out."

"Me too…" Michael said under his breath, "...but I think that there's more to you than you're letting on."

She shrugged. "Not really. Shitty, poor childhood. It's why I sometimes have to fuck guys for money. What about you?"

"Ah, pretty much the same thing…" he admitted. "I had something going for me once back in high school, but I fucked it up."

"And what was that?" she asked curiously after sipping her drink.

"Football," he said shortly, staring down at his drink regretfully.

"I should have figured that you were a jock, for a big guy like you are," she teased. He opened his mouth to protest before she cut him off. "And I mean that in the nicest way possible, darling," she flirted, resting her hand on his arm and feeling the muscles beneath her fingertips.

"If we're making assumptions, then were you a cheerleader? Pretty girl like you are..." he smiled at her confidently, earning a giggle from her.

"Surprisingly, no. I hated school enough as it is. I'll tell you one thing though, Townley: I would have _loved_ to be your cheerleader."

"Aw, thanks, Mandy," he said, noticing at how she raised her eyebrows at the nickname. "What, you don't like it?"

"No, I do...I think it's kinda cute," she said with a soft smile before looking up at him thoughtfully. "You know, Michael, for someone who acts like such a tough guy, you're kind of a romantic."

"How do you know that it's not just my natural charm?" he smirked at her.

She just scoffed. "Please. I've been with enough guys to know whether it's 'charm' or not and I know that with you, it's not. I can see it in those gorgeous blue eyes whenever you look at me."

Michael felt his neck and cheeks grow a bit hot and he tugged at the collar of his jacket nervously. In an attempt to calm his nerves, he finished off the rest of his whiskey. He looked down at her own drink and noticed it nearing empty. "You want me to grab you another drink?" he asked, starting to stand up.

She bit her lip hesitantly, shaking her head before wrapping a hand around his neck and pulling him down for a long, slow kiss. "How about we go back to your place instead?" Amanda whispered in his ear.

His eyes brightened at the offer and he just nodded, not trusting his mouth to form any words. "I...I think that sounds like a great idea," he managed.

She grinned and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. "Let's go then," she said as she grabbed his hand.

* * *

"Welcome to my humble abode…" Michael said quietly as he flipped on the lights of the trailer. "I cleaned it up a little before tonight," he confessed when he saw her notice the garbage can full of empty beer bottles.

Amanda nodded and looked around at the old movie posters covering his walls. "A movie lover, I see..."

He smiled a little. "Yeah, ever since I was a kid," he said, his voice filled with nostalgia.

She turned to face him. "You know, I had a lot of fun tonight, Michael…" she whispered, her voice taking on a seductive tone, and rested a hand on his chest.

Michael could only hope that she didn't feel his heart kicking through his shirt. "I did too," he breathed out. A nervous hand reached out to tuck a lock of dark hair behind her ear. He'd barely pulled his hand away before her hands rested on his cheeks and pulled him down for a kiss.

Her lips tasted sweet and like wine against his and her hands felt warm against his skin. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close against his body. In all of the kisses he'd had in his life, this was by far the best. Not superficial and just a gateway for sex, it felt...real, meaningful. He smiled against the kiss at the realization.

Michael promptly picked her up and she giggled as he carried her over and set her on the edge of the kitchen table. He sped up the kiss, only pulling apart for quick gasps of air. Her fingers ran through his hair as he kissed her. His shaky hands tried tugging off her shirt unsuccessfully before she pulled away with a smirk. "Relax, I got it," Amanda teased as she lifted her shirt over her head.

Within seconds, she'd thrown his shirt aside and had gone right back to kissing him. A small whimper came from her lips when he broke away, the protest immediately stopping when his lips latched onto the side of her neck. His thumb ran gently along her jawline as his lips traveled towards her collarbone, the man reveling in the sighs of pleasure coming from her. His other hand had just started to tug her bra straps off of her shoulders when a pounding at the door stopped him.

They both shot up in shock, eyes darting towards the door. "Oh my God…" Amanda gasped. "Who the hell is that?!"

Michael sighed in anger and put his shirt back on, rolling his sleeves up as he walked to the door. "I think I have an idea…" He opened the door to the sight of Trevor standing there. "T, what the fuck are you doing here?!"

"Lost the key to my trailer…" Trevor grunted. "And I figured that my best friend would let me crash at his place for the night!"

"Now's not the best time, I'm kinda busy-" Michael started before his psychopathic best friend pushed past him and into the trailer.

"Ah, I forgot all about your lovely company, Mikey…" Trevor slurred, eyeing a very terrified Amanda.

Michael stared at him in disbelief. "Are you fucking high?" he asked him, even though he already knew the answer.

"Yes!" Trevor exclaimed. "And that's why I _really_ need to crash here."

"Michael…" Amanda said quietly, desperately trying to get his attention.

Trevor looked over at her and sauntered over to where she was still perched on the table. "Listen, sweetheart, if things don't work out between you two, I'm always here-"

"In your dreams, creep," she immediately said, glaring coldly at him.

"Ah, you're not my type, anyway. Too bitchy…" Trevor shot back.

"Oh, you motherfu-" she started before Michael grabbed her hand and interrupted her.

"Ah, ah, no…" he said as he quickly led her into kitchen. "Listen, you can call Trevor _a lot_ of things, but never call him that."

She looked at him in confusion. "Why not?"

"Guy's got a shitty past, a fucked up childhood," Michael explained. "Listen, I learned about this the hard way."

"What happened?"

"Let's just say I came home with a broken jaw," he scratched at his jawline, recalling the bad memory. "And he's my best friend, so there's no telling what he'd do to you."

"Oh…" she whispered. "I get it."

It was then that Trevor came to investigate "What're you telling her, M? Are you telling her about us?"

Her eyes darted between the two. "What are you talking about?"

"He didn't tell you?" Trevor asked in shock. "This guy is only one of the most wanted men in America!"

Michael looked like he was ready to punch him. "Shut up, Trevor-"

Trevor just ignored him and continued. "This is the infamous bank robber Michael Townley!"

"God damn it…" Michael sighed and started shoving his friend out of the door, ignoring the man's protests. He quickly locked the door behind him before turning to face Amanda.

"Is it true?" she asked, voice a mix of fear and anger.

He stared down at the floor sadly. "Yep…"

"Shit, it's always the cute ones…" she said under her breath with a bitter laugh.

"Look, I can explain-" he started.

She interrupted him angrily. "How do you explain _this_?!"

"I never wanted this life," he said regretfully. "I still don't. I only do it because I need the money and it's all I know how to do. I don't get off on hurting people."

"I like you, Michael, I really do," she admitted, "I just don't know if I can do this."

He nodded. "I won't blame you if you never want to see me again...but I had a great time tonight and I wanna do this again. I like you, too and I dunno...I just think that this could work." He looked up at her pleadingly, hoping that she'd understand, hoping that this wouldn't affect anything all because of some stupid mistakes he'd made in his life.

She looked at him, deep in thought, before finally nodding. "I'll tell you what: we can try this again next week and we'll see if we can do this. If not, I'm out."

A relieved grin formed on his face. "Deal. I'll go drop you off at your place."

"What about your friend?" she asked, looking out the window.

"Ah, he'll be fine," he said dismissively and smirking over at her. He grabbed his car keys, not noticing her moving closer to him.

What he didn't expect next was the soft kiss that she pressed to his jaw and her whisper of, "I think we'll make this work."


	20. Sorry

_Back with another update :D This one is a bit late because it started out as a shorter fic, but I couldn't leave well enough alone (the ending may seem a bit short as a result). This is set when they were engaged and she starts to get a little apprehensive towards his lifestyle. As always, enjoy!_

* * *

 _3:00am._ The clock practically burned the time into her eyes. Amanda stared at the phone, like she'd been doing for the past few hours. He'd left just after sunset, with a final kiss and "I love you" before he'd walked out of the door and got into the van to go rob a bank on the outskirts of town.

This time, she was worrying more than usual. He was gone more often than he was home lately. She knew that she was engaged to an infamous bank robber. She knew that he often did illegal things that could easily get him killed, but she had accepted it at this point. Or, at least, she thought she had.

As she got up to go get another cup of coffee (the only thing that was getting her through this night), she twisted her engagement ring around her finger. When she'd agreed to marry him, she knew what she was signing up for. All of the late nights and worrying would be worth it if she could be with him, she reflected as she sat back down on the couch.

That didn't stop her mind from wandering to dark places. What if he had been arrested? What if he was hurt? What if he was dead? Amanda felt a shiver run up her spine at the last thought.

She took a sip of her drink but quickly set it down with shaky hands, not able to handle it between the bitter taste in her mouth and the lump in her throat. Her eyes flickered back to the phone, hoping that she would never get that call from the hospital or, god forbid, the police.

Tears freely ran down her cheeks and she didn't even realize it until the drops fell onto her hands. She wiped them away angrily before any more could form.

 _He's fine,_ she tried to reassure herself. _Michael's been doing this for years. He can take care of himself. The last thing he needs is his pathetic fiancée crying over him for nothing._

But the tears kept falling and nothing she told herself could stop them. All she could do was hope that he was safe. That he was on his way home, coming to reassure her with a soft smile and his strong arms wrapped around her.

His last heist hadn't gone so well. He didn't come home for three days and when he did, he was covered in cuts and bruises, complimented by a couple bullet grazes, and looked about ready to collapse from exhaustion when he did get home. But he just grinned at her and told her that he was fine, that it was just a part of the job.

Her tears quickly turned into sobs as a startling realization came over her. What if _she_ couldn't do this anymore? She loved Michael with all of her heart. The man was charming, caring, and handsome as hell, but he was a wanted criminal. The last thing he wanted was her to get hurt because of his lifestyle, she knew that, but they both knew that he didn't have much power over it. She was _pregnant_ , for god's sakes, she couldn't afford to get hurt. As long as she was with him, there would always be that risk…

Amanda started to cry harder at even the thought of leaving him. Over her sobs, she didn't even hear the front door open or Michael rushing over to her. "Hey, baby. I'm so sorry I'm late-"

His apology was cut short by her wrapping her arms around him and pulling him down into a hug. She buried her face into his shoulder, still crying quietly, and trembled beneath him.

"Hey, no need to cry. I'm okay and I'm here now, with you," he said softly, wiping her tears away. "Sorry I worried you, there was just so much shit going on and I didn't have time to call you…"

"It's okay…" she whispered shakily. "I'm just so glad you're home."

Michael smiled at her reassuringly, but she couldn't help but notice the excited glint in his eyes from a successful job. "Now, let's go get some sleep. I think we both need it after today…" He grabbed her hand and gently led her into the bedroom.

"Yeah…" she said quietly, watching as he shed his jacket and carelessly put his gun holster down on the dresser. "So, how'd it go?"

"It went well. Surprisingly…" he muttered the last part under his breath. "Took a bit longer than I would've liked, but I wasn't shot or arrested, so I can't really complain."

She bit her lip hesitantly and tapped her fingers against the mattress nervously as she watched him get undressed. "Good thing you weren't…"

A frown crossed his face when he noticed her tone. "Hon, you know I'm a bit of a hot-headed idiot sometimes, but I'm not that stupid. You know I'd never take a job that I know I couldn't do, right?" he asked as he crawled into bed next to her.

"I do…" she said before gently pressing her lips against his before pulling away to say, "I just get so worried, Michael…"

"I know, darlin'..." he murmured before he kissed her back.

They quickly forgot about their exhaustion and worries as the kiss escalated into something more. He quickly rid her of her clothing, his lips and hands wandering over her body, one hand only stopping to gently linger over her stomach. "I love you…" he whispered as he leaned back down to kiss her.

Michael made love to her that night, as slowly and gently as he could. She savored every second of it. He was alive, safe, and home, and she wanted to stay in the moment she knew wouldn't last. Amanda felt her fears dissipate as he kissed her everywhere and whispered sweet nothings in her ear.

When they were finished, he wrapped his arms around her and sighed in contentment. She listened as he slowly drifted off to sleep and his soft snores began. Despite Michael's body feeling warm and comfortable against hers, her thoughts soon went back to where they were before he got home.

Yeah, he was home now...but for how long? When would he go off to rob another bank? When would be the time where he never came back?

The thought made her blood run cold and she snuggled back up to him for warmth. Restlessly, she turned over and stared at his sleeping form. She admired at how innocent and happy he looked and delicately pressed a kiss to his cheek. Michael's lips turned up in a faint smile and he mumbled something inaudible in his sleep.

Amanda could feel the tears start to form in her eyes at his response and turned back over, feeling instantly horrible for her feelings.

 _I can't do this anymore_ , she realized. _I love him...so much...but this is too dangerous. He already gets into enough danger without me around…_

With that horrible realization, she pressed herself closer to him and cried herself to sleep.

* * *

Michael woke up the next morning to see her side of the bed unoccupied. Not thinking anything of it, he just shrugged and got up. He got dressed and ran a hand through his messed up hair before heading into the kitchen, where he found Amanda.

She was staring down at the coffee maker, but he soon realized that it wasn't actually on. "Think you forgot something," he smirked as he reached over her shoulder and flipped the switch on. "Still a bit tired, babe?"

Amanda jumped in shock beneath him. "Oh...hey," she said distractedly, still facing away from him.

"Mornin'," he said, gently putting his arms around her waist. She immediately stiffened under his touch and he pulled away, frowning. "Are you okay?"

She turned around, eyes still staring at the ground. "Yeah...I'm fine," she muttered.

"No, you're not," he sighed. He gently tilted her face up to his. She tried to smile at him but between the redness of her eyes and the sadness filling them, he knew something was wrong. "What's up?"

"Nothing…" she hopelessly tried to keep the faux smile on her face, but soon broke down sobbing.

Michael just stood there in shock before he wrapped his arms around her. "Hey, it's okay, Mandy. Just tell me what's going on."

"Michael, I just... I can't do this anymore," she whimpered.

"Do what?" he asked in confusion. He tried to wipe away more tears before they escaped down her face, even though he knew that was a hopeless endeavor.

"I love you, Michael, so much...but right now, I just can't…" she continued.

He stroked her hair in reassurance. "It's fine. Whatever it is, you can tell me," he said soothingly.

Amanda let out a deep breath, trying to steady her emotions. "I can't do this right now. Us. Whatever this is."

"What are you talking about?" Fear started to set in him. He knew what she was going to say, but he desperately hoped that it wasn't true.

Finally, her crying stopped and she looked up at him pleadingly. "Look...just let me say all of this before you try and stop me. I thought about this all night and this morning...and this isn't easy at all...but I don't think we should be together right now."

Michael let go of her like she was a hot iron. He stumbled back in shock with a look of betrayal on his face. It took all of his strength to not fall apart right then and there, but he knew that she had a hard time telling him this so he was determined to hear her out. "What did I do wrong?" he asked softly. He'd never wanted to ruin this the way he ruined everything else in his life...

"Nothing," was her quiet response.

"Then why are you doing this?" his voice was shaky and almost begging. He'd thought that they moved past all of their issues. It had taken a while, obviously, but he thought they'd had something good going on before this.

"Please believe me when I say that you did nothing wrong," she pleaded. "It's just...this lifestyle. It's already hard enough loving someone that whenever he walks out the door, I don't know if I'll ever see him again. I thought I could handle it, I really did, but I'm _pregnant_ , Michael and it's too dangerous to be around you. I can't do this…"

"You can't?" his voice had taken on a bitter edge. "Or you don't want to?"

"Does it really matter?" she asked tiredly. Blue eyes stared up at him, filled with tears, sadness, and exhaustion. "I'm so sorry. Goodbye, Michael…" she started walking to the door, gaze shifting down at the floor because she didn't have the courage to look back up at him.

Michael stepped in front of her and gently grabbed her hand. "I'm not gonna try and stop you," he said when she opened her mouth to protest. "I...I'm sorry for whatever I didn't do. God, I love you...I'm such a fuckin' screw up…" he said under his breath. "All I wanted to say was that I'll always be here if you ever wanna come back."

Amanda just nodded sadly. A contemplative look briefly crossed her face before she leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips. She gently squeezed his hand as she pulled away. "I love you," she whispered before walking out of the door.

So she left, leaving him standing there with the taste of her on his lips and those three words echoing in his head. It wasn't until he snapped out of his daze that he opened the palm of his hand and saw her engagement ring resting on it. All of the emotions he'd been hopelessly trying to keep in suddenly hit him at once. Before he knew it, his fist had slammed against the counter with one thought in his mind: _Fuck. This. Place._

* * *

He started to take more jobs, no matter what the risk was. He just needed a distraction from the emptiness in his bed and the ring that was collecting dust on his dresser. He was never home anymore and even when he was, he was usually passed out on the couch after having too much to drink.

Michael started to think that tonight was one of those nights. He'd just done a job the day before and was sitting at home, still alone. His shaky hands poured another glass of whiskey as he tried to not think too hard about his life. She'd been gone for nearly a month now, and he still wasn't used to the silence. Thinking about it now, he wasn't sure if he'd ever be.

She didn't want to leave, he could tell, but it still didn't make anything easier. Still, he knew that it was probably for the best. He couldn't imagine what he'd do if she got hurt because of his stupid lifestyle. Or what she'd do if he'd gotten himself killed during a job.

Michael finished the rest of his drink, the second of the night so far, at the morbid thought. He reached for the bottle for another one before realizing that it was empty. Sighing, he got up and started heading for the kitchen before he heard knocking at his door.

He just rolled his eyes, thinking that it was probably Trevor there to convince him into taking a heist that would most likely get both of them killed. Against his better judgement, he opened the door anyway, not to his best friend, but one of the last people he expected. _Amanda…_

A million things he wanted to say rushed through his mind, but he didn't have time to even open his mouth before Amanda wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. "I'm so sorry…" was the first thing she said when she drew back.

He just pulled her closer and buried his head into her shoulder, inhaling her familiar scent. "What're you doing here?" he murmured against the fabric of her shirt.

Amanda smiled at him sadly. "I watch the news, you know. God...are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"Maybe…" he said, finally pulling back and staring into her tear-filled eyes. "So, why'd you come back?" he asked quietly, voice growing serious.

"I was even more worried when I was gone. I couldn't stop thinking about you, how I could've thrown everything we had away and you could've gotten killed while I wouldn't have even known…" Tears started to run down her face and she quickly wiped them away. "I can't believe I just _left_ when things got hard…"

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head to try and calm her down. "It's okay. I'm just glad you're back now," he mumbled against her soft hair.

"I'm sorry…" she repeated tiredly.

"I know," he sighed before an idea formed in his head. He smirked slightly before he gently untangled himself from their embrace. "Be right back."

Michael came back a second later, with a knowing grin on his face and one hand behind his back. Before she could ask him what he was doing, he slipped the engagement ring onto her finger once again. "I missed you so much, Mandy…"

She smiled softly down at the ring, then back up at him. "I missed you, too. I love you, Michael, I really do…"

He pulled her into a hug, sighing in relief against her, happy that she was finally back. "I love you, too."


	21. Wonderland

_Hello! This chapter is an idea I've been meaning to do for a while now, detailing the move to Los Santos. It's mostly dialogue and time skips so apologies if it gets a little boring. (The title of this chapter comes from the song "Wonderland" which reminds me a lot of Michael and Amanda after they moved to Los Santos)._

* * *

They collapsed onto the couch, exhausted. Ever since they had the kids, it had seemed like years since they'd gotten any rest, but tonight was worse. Michael rubbed his forehead with a sigh. "Jesus Christ…you'd think the closer they're getting to being teenagers, this would get easier," he muttered.

Amanda rested her head on his chest, yawning. "Sometimes I wonder if they're the first human beings who don't need sleep…"

He just bit his lip. "Yeah…" he said distractedly, fingers absentmindedly running through her hair.

She looked up at him with a frown. "Babe, are you okay?" He'd been quiet all night and she suspected that it wasn't from exhaustion.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he lied, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. His eyes shifted down to his leg, giving him a cruel reminder of his last heist. He still thought of the almost fatal fall he'd had from the roof of the bank, how close he'd been to never getting out of there alive.

"I know your last job didn't go so well-" she started, voice almost pitying.

Michael quickly interrupted her. "Hon, it's nothing. Really."

If looks could kill, he would've been dead on the spot. "Michael, I've been married long enough to you to know that it's never really 'nothing'," Amanda said with a glare.

Knowing that she'd never lose this fight, he just held his hands up in defeat. "Alright, fuck, fine. So, you know how I went out to the bar a few days ago?" he asked, earning a nod from her. "Well, I met this guy there and then I find out he's with the FIB. Couple drinks later and he makes me this deal...that I play dead for him and get him some promotions while _we…_ " he grabbed her hand reassuringly. "We finally get outta this shithole town."

Amanda, who had been silent through his whole story, just stared at him in open-mouthed shock. "Michael, I...I don't know about this," she stuttered.

"C'mon, babe, isn't this just what we wanted? Just a few weeks ago, we were talking about how we couldn't do this anymore!" he pleaded before letting out a deep sigh. "Listen, Amanda, we're going to move to Los Santos. Start over. I made a _deal._ The slate will be totally wiped clean."

Tears started to silently run down her face and she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes.

Michael delicately brushed the tears away from her face. "Trust me, darling, look at me, Amanda," he tried to tilt her face back up to his desperately. "It was the only thing I could do. Either everyone dies, or one guy gets out. I'm that guy!"

"Isn't there another way? I mean, this can't be the only way…" she said, voice almost pleading.

"What else are we supposed to do? Wait around until we all get killed?" he asked her harshly. "Do you wanna die here where it's always snowing? Or do you wanna go and live where it's always sunny?"

She didn't respond to that, just swallowed hard and finally looked at him. "Okay...tell me about this guy. This FIB agent you met. I just wanna be sure that he's not gonna end up betraying you."

"His name is Dave Norton, nice guy, realist. He gets the glory, I get out. It's not even a decision. Amanda, I don't have a choice…" he said in a shaky voice.

"And where is this 'job'? Is it another big bank that will probably get you killed like last time?" she asked bitterly.

"Some depot outta town, you don't need to know," he said dismissively. "Trust me, nothing is gonna go wrong. Nothing."

"Oh, I've heard that before…" Amanda laughed under her breath, having dealt with this same conversation too many times already. "Michael, it…it just seems shady. Like it's too good to be true. How am I supposed to know that he's not just gonna kill you instead?!"

"I have a good feeling about this. If something goes wrong, I can handle it," he said reassuringly. "I did the deal, Amanda. It's over. Baby, we get _out._ Be happy. Be normal!"

She relaxed slightly. He knew that this is what she'd always secretly wanted, just a normal life with him and the kids. No more worrying about money, or if he was going to come home. Just being finally care-free and happy. "I do want that, Michael...I do…" she admitted.

Michael let out a deep breath, one that he'd been holding ever since they'd started this conversation. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his nose into the top of her head, inhaling the sweet and familiar scent of her hair. "Just this one job and everything is done…"

* * *

He leaned against the doorway with a crooked smile. "You look like you've seen a ghost," Michael said when he saw her relieved and slightly shocked face.

"God, I knew you were gonna say something like that…" Amanda said under her breath. It was then that she noticed the blood covering his face from the parallel cuts on his cheeks and the way he grimaced when he moved. "What happened to 'nothing is gonna go wrong'?" she asked bitterly, mocking his words from before.

"It was going fine…" he insisted as he sat down, inhaling sharply from pain. "...till the car got into a fight with a train."

She just grabbed the first aid kit. "Besides that, how did it go?"

"Well, Michael Townley is officially a dead man," he said with a grin. Michael took off his jacket, revealing the bulletproof vest beneath it and the bullet lodged in the vest near where his heart would be. "Gonna bruise like hell though…"

"I'm just glad that you were wearing this," Amanda said as she lightly patted his chest. Now that she was up close, she noticed a deep gash that disappeared into his hairline and sighed sadly. "I hope that this is the last time I'll have to do this…"

"Yeah, I hope so, too," he muttered.

"So, what do we donow?" she asked as she gently started to wipe the blood away from his cheeks.

"Now we wait until the heat dies down and the funeral is over with. And then…" he grabbed her free hand and smiled up at her. "Then we get out of here."

When she finished cleaning his wounds, she smiled weakly at him. "You look like a cat." She made whisker motions on her face, indicating where his own cuts were, earning a frown from him. Amanda just laughed and threaded her fingers through his newly short hair.

Michael pressed his head against her palm and sighed in contentment and relief. "'Manda…" he murmured.

"Yeah?" she asked softly.

"I'm so glad that this is over," he confessed. In that moment, he sounded so tired, more tired than she'd ever heard. Tired of risking his life every day, tired of constantly being on the run, just tired of this life.

"Me too, darling," she said soothingly. "Me too."

* * *

"Babe, no need to freak the fuck out. It's not like it's my actual funeral," he rested his hands on her shoulders in an attempt to calm her down. She was crying quietly and he could feel her shaking beneath his hands

"Yeah, I know," Amanda said quietly. "I just can't stop thinking about how easily it could have been. Like it's what could have happened to you so many times…"

"Exactly why we're doing this, right? And don't worry, I'll be watching the whole thing and taking care of the kids," Michael said reassuringly.

"They still don't know what's going on, do they?" she asked.

He shook his head. "They know that we need to move and change our name, but they don't know why."

She sighed sadly. "They're still so young, Michael, I wish they didn't have to go through this…"

He pulled her into a hug, his strong arms making her feel safe. "Me too, but at least now we can give them the life that that we never got, the one that they deserve."

"They do deserve better…" she nodded before wiping away her tears and laughing slightly. "At least now I won't have to act."

Later, it turned out, she didn't even need to act. The thought of how this could have been a reality even if he hadn't made the deal did that all on its own.

* * *

"Welcome to Los Santos, baby," Michael whispered in her ear.

Amanda couldn't speak. Los Santos was even more beautiful than she'd ever imagined, all towering skyscrapers and bright lights. Sure, she'd seen pictures of it before, but that was all they were. Just pictures. Their tiny town back in North Yankton was nothing compared to the city of fame and fortune. "Wow…" she managed to breathe out.

"It's something, huh?" he asked in awe, staring out of the plane window. "I know you've never really been outside out of North Yankton..."

"It's amazing," she said. A wave of excitement rushed through her as the realization that this was _actually_ happening hit her. Before this, it had seemed like a dream that was too good to be true. Now that it was, she couldn't wait to begin their new life. "I love you," she murmured as she pressed a light kiss to his cheek.

Michael smiled at her, looking the happiest he'd been in a long time. "Love you, too."

* * *

"Are we nearly there yet?" came a whimper from the backseat of the car.

Michael looked at the rearview mirror with a glare. "Not yet, Tracey."

"Are we nearly _nearly_ there yet?" she asked anxiously.

"You keep this up, we're not gonna get there at all," he sighed, having dealt with this same conversation at least ten times during the hour that they'd been stuck in Los Santos traffic. His wife just laughed next to him in the passenger seat. "You know, why couldn't you have fallen asleep like your brother?"

"Pfft, I'm not even tired," Tracey pouted.

* * *

"Remember when she said she wasn't tired?" Amanda smirked, staring fondly at their children fast asleep in the back of the car.

"Yeah, well, she's stubborn. Takes after her mother," Michael chuckled as he went to go wake them up.

"Babe, you sure you didn't take us to the wrong place?" she asked, staring awestruck at the huge mansion sprawled in front of them. It was easily the biggest house on the block, and surely the most expensive too.

He stood back up and shook his head. "Nope. This place is all ours. Three bedrooms, a pool, and room for expansion in the back." With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he glanced over at the kids, who were groggily getting out of the car. "Now, you two can go kill each other for the best room."

With that, they shot awake instantly and raced into the house. Michael and Amanda just watched in amusement. "I haven't seen them that happy in a while," she noted with a smile.

"Well, I have a feeling that we're gonna be seeing them like that a lot. Now..." he trailed off before he picked her up bridal style and carried her through the front door. "Now is our time to relax."

She laughed as he set her back down. "You know we did the whole 'groom carries the bride through the front door' thing years ago, right?"

"As far as I know, Michael and Amanda De Santa never have," he said teasingly.

"Or maybe you just wanted an excuse to pick me up?"

"Ah, maybe," he admitted. "So, what's first on the agenda? We have the bed, the pool, the hot tub…"

She rolled her eyes playfully. "Well, the kids _are_ gonna be busy for a while...so let's break in the new bed."

"I like your way of thinking," he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before grabbing her hand and leading her upstairs.

* * *

"I could get used to this," Michael said breathlessly as he rolled over onto his side of the bed.

"Me too…" Amanda agreed. She gently ran her fingers through his hair, earning a content smile from him.

"Y'know, it's amazing what the government can do if all you do is play dead."

"Yeah, if only we could have done this years ago," she said sarcastically, gently kissing him on the lips before he could protest. "I'm so glad we're here now, though."

"Good, that's good…" he murmured. "You know, the only reason I did this was so that you and the kids would be safe…"

"I do, Michael. That's why I love you," she whispered.

"Thanks, sweetheart. I love you, too…" he sighed in relief against her. "Now what do we?"

"Hm…" she said thoughtfully. "Now I might take you up on your offer of the pool."


	22. Desperate Times

_A bit of a later update and a shorter one than I'd like, but I just got this idea. A well known easter egg in the game is that Amanda has a dating profile and after a bit of digging, I found out that Michael had one that was cut from the game (courtesy of the GTA wiki), thus this idea was born. Enjoy :D_

* * *

 _Click._ The flash of the camera burned into her eyes, blinding her for a moment. As soon as the brightness faded, Amanda stared back at the picture she'd just taken of herself. Her blue eyes were bright with triumph and her dark pink lips were pulled up in a smug grin. Her wavy brown hair spilled over her shoulders, bare save for the straps of her best lingerie that she was wearing.

She wasn't wearing it for her husband, no, of course she wasn't. Just the other day, he'd caught her with her tennis coach, ruining her plans of payback for his affair. Even though it had given her satisfaction in some sick way, she'd desperately hoped that it would help him come to his senses. _Maybe he'll notice me again,_ she had thought at the time. If anything, it had only made him angrier, leading her to plan B.

Amanda looked down at the dating website she'd pulled up on her phone. She read through it, the website's successful tales of infidelities making her put her head in her hands in frustration. "When did I get so _pathetic_?" she wondered aloud. Sighing, she looked back at her phone and almost laughed when she saw the tagline of the website. " _Chances are your spouse has done the dirty on you already."_ "Yep…" she said under her breath, the memory of finding him in their own bed with a stripper almost three years ago still vivid in her mind.

With that, her hesitance disappeared and she clicked the sign-up button. She rolled her eyes and entered some cheesy username and put up the picture of herself before continuing, where it pulled up a list of questions to answer about herself.

" _What is your body type?"_ the first one prompted her, giving her a list of types ranging from doughy all the way to banging. Smirking in satisfaction, she looked at herself in the mirror before answering with "banging".

"How much do I drink…?" she repeated the question to herself. She glanced over at the empty bottle of wine next to her, the thing that gave her the liquid courage to do this. _Destructively._

" _What are you looking for?"_ Amanda honestly didn't know herself. Not love, she was still in love, but not exactly no strings attached. _Anything goes._

After answering a couple more mindless questions, it asked her why she was on there. She thought about that for a long moment, and after wondering where her life went so wrong, she started typing.

" _Unsatisfied mother of two. I have the body and mind of a girl half my age but my husband's too wrapped up in himself to notice. He spends half his time drinking by the pool ignoring me. Well I'm done. Looking for a fit, athletic man who knows how to appreciate a woman in her sexual prime. I love yoga."_

She read it back to herself at least twice. If someone had told her ten years ago that she'd give up on her husband and would be on a dating website prowling for younger guys, she would have laughed in their face. Back then, it would have been so unlike her, now she wasn't even surprised. With a sad sigh, she finished signing up. Now all that was left was to wait.

The sound of the bedroom door opening snapped her from her self-pity. _Just when I think hell can't get any worse, in walks the devil._

Michael took in her spot at the vanity, at the lingerie she was wearing and glared at her in suspicion. "The hell are you doing?" he asked.

"Why do you care?" she snapped back.

"Just wanted to see if you've taken up any _new_ hobbies since you won't be playing a lot of tennis now, not like you were playing much before…" he said sarcastically

"That's funny coming from you," she scoffed. "Let's not forget that _you_ cheated first, Michael."

"Ah, how could I when you're constantly reminding me?" he muttered, walking into their closet. She heard the distinctive click of a gun being loaded before he walked back out, tucking something into his jacket pocket. "I'm going out. Don't bother staying up for me."

Amanda didn't respond, just sighed in disappointment and listened to the door slamming behind him. She didn't lift her head until she heard the sound of her phone buzzing next to her. A small smile tugged at her lips when she read the notification from the dating website.

" _You have found one new match."_

* * *

"You know it's rude to text during a movie," Michael teased, glancing over to where she was on her phone. It was late, but neither of them could sleep, so they were lying in bed and watching one of his old movies on the TV.

"Yeah, well, I'm not texting," Amanda said, not looking up from her phone. She'd already seen the movie a million times, anyway, and had other things on her mind.

"Then what are you doing?" he asked, curiously trying to get a better look at the small screen.

"Nothing," she said quickly, turning the phone away from him.

He frowned at her. "I have a feeling that you're trying to hide something…" he trailed off before swiftly taking her phone from her, his other hand gently keeping her at bay when she tried to protest.

"Michael, please-" she started, hopelessly trying to take it back before giving up.

The brightness of the screen highlighted the betrayed look on his face. "A dating profile? Baby, what is this?" he looked at her, his eyes filled with hurt.

"It's nothing, just a stupid mistake," she sighed. "I made it a few months ago, after the thing with the tennis coach…"

He relaxed a little, a small smirk forming on his face when he saw her profile picture. "Ah, so _that's_ what you were doing that night. I could never forget that outfit," he chuckled. "I didn't think that you'd be that desperate, but why are you on it now?"

"I _was_ trying to delete it before I got interrupted. Now, can I have that back?" she asked with a glare, holding her hand out for her phone.

"Hold on, I'm not done yet. Hm... you definitely still have the body of a twenty-year-old, babe," he said, eyes roaming over her body appreciatively.

A blush spread up her face and she was glad that it was dark in their room for a brief moment. Reluctantly, he handed it back over to her once he was done. She looked back at her profile, an idea forming in her mind. "I'm gonna look at some of the pathetic guys I matched up with before I get rid of this thing," she explained with a laugh.

Her laugh was quickly cut short when she saw one of the so-called "pathetic guys". "And what is this?" she asked angrily, shoving the phone back into his face. On it was a picture of a very awkward, uncomfortable looking, shirtless Michael.

"Oh, that…" he muttered, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

"Apparently I'm not the only desperate one in this relationship," she said sarcastically. "Now I'm just disappointed in both of us. So, when did you make yours?"

"Well, it was after you and the kids had left…"

* * *

 _What the hell am I doing?_

That was the only thought that ran through Michael's mind as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror in nothing but his boxers. His family had been gone for almost a month now and the silence was killing him. He needed anything to distract him from it, that was why he had a dating website pulled up on his phone.

The damn thing had cost him 500 dollars to sign up, but he really didn't care. It wasn't as if he was short on money, anyways. It was the other things that he hadn't had figured out yet.

Sighing, Michael walked back into his room and collapsed onto the empty bed, reaching for the nearly empty bottle of whiskey that was sitting on his nightstand. He needed all of the alcohol he could get before getting any further with this.

It had been the alcohol, combined with the fact that he couldn't sleep after another nightmare about losing his wife, that had convinced him to do this.

He tried to answer the questions as quickly and painlessly as possible.

 _45 years old._

 _Drinks destructively._

 _Looking for no strings attached._

 _Average body type._

Michael looked down at himself in the at that last question, frowning. He certainly wasn't the athletic guy he was when he'd moved to Los Santos anymore, that was for sure. Then again, a lot more than that had changed since then. It was how his life ended up as depressing as this.

When it asked him about why he was signing up, he finished off the rest of the bottle before letting out a deep breath and starting to type.

* * *

"'Miserable father and husband. My wife and kids left me, leaving me alone in my big mansion. Getting lonely so I'm looking for no strings attached sex. I like watching old movies and having a drink by the pool.' Wow, Michael, could you be any more obvious?" Amanda asked after she read his profile out loud.

Michael held his hands up as defended himself. "I was lonely! Plus, I really didn't care if someone would've found out."

"Uh huh...be honest with me, darling, did you find anyone?" she asked with a smirk.

"A few actually. I always backed out of them last minute, though, 'cause I thought of you," he admitted

"Well, that's nice...I think?" she frowned in confusion. "Guess it's better than you going through with it."

"I guess I should delete mine, too," he said as he leaned over and grabbed his phone from the nightstand.

They both lapsed into awkward silence as they erased their traces of their infidelity from the internet. "Well, I'm glad _that's_ over with," Amanda said once they were done. She rested her head on his shoulder, sighing in relief.

"Yeah, me too…" he agreed, before turning off the TV and giving her a kiss. "So, tell me, do I know how to appreciate you in your _sexual prime_ now?" he barely could keep a straight face throughout the sentence, a teasing smile on his face.

She just grinned at him before sitting up and moving to straddle him. "I guess we're just going to have to find out…"


	23. Meltdown

_Back with another update :D This is an idea I've been meaning to do for a while, which is set during/after Meltdown. Review, blah, blah, blah, all that stuff, but enjoy!_

"Daddy's home, you pricks!" The gunshot almost drowned out Michael's triumphant shout as he burst through the front door. He could barely contain his sigh of relief when he saw the mercenary holding a gun to his wife's head slump, the gun clattering to the floor.

Amanda shoved the dead weight of the mercenary off of her with a shiver. Michael ran up the stairs to her, feeling her shake underneath him as he wiped the blood away from her cheek. "Baby, are you okay?" he quickly asked, looking her up and down to see if she was hurt.

"...I'm fine but there's one in there with Tracey. He's in there with our girl…" she trailed off, voice cracking at the end of the sentence.

He nodded, mouth set in a grim line, and ran past her into their daughter's bedroom, the sound of gunfire following quickly behind. Before she knew it, she was hugging her terrified daughter while Michael stared in horror at the mercenary with a bullet in his head on the floor. "Are you okay? Are you alright, sweetie?" Amanda asked her frantically.

"I...I think so," Tracey stuttered.

The sound of more hitmen entering the house broke Michael out of his stupor. "Alright, you two stay here, keep your heads down," he said as he reloaded his pistol and started for the door.

Amanda leaned forward to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "Be safe, baby," she whispered.

He smiled sadly at her as he pulled away. "Don't you worry about me," he said before leaving the bedroom.

She locked the door behind him. _As if that will help against these guys,_ she thought bitterly. An explosion rang out as she started to walk towards the bed. "Michael, is that you?" she called out hesitantly, praying for a response. "Can we come out?"

"Not yet. Stay put," he replied gruffly, voice muffled by the door. "Goddamn it, there's so many of them…" he muttered the last part under his breath as if she wouldn't hear it.

She sat down next to Tracey. "I don't like this, Michael…" she said, tears starting to run down her face.

"Neither do I. Just keep calm," his voice was oddly soothing and relaxed despite the barrage of shots ringing out. Suddenly, the sound of bullets hitting drywall was interrupted by the sound of them meeting flesh and a small cry of pain coming from Michael.

"Daddy, are you okay?" Tracey asked in concern. Both of them waited with held breath for his response before he let out a deep breath.

"I'm fine, Trace. You just stay down, sweetie," he reassured her. With that, more mercenaries burst into the back doors of the house, the gunshots returning in full force.

Her daughter was shaking next to her. "They're gonna kill us, dad!"

"No one's gonna kill you. Daddy's got this," he said confidently, voice tapering off as he went outside, the door slamming behind him.

Thunder roared outside, doing nothing to mask the sounds of destruction happening right outside their house. Amanda whimpered and put her head in her hands, trying to drown out the noise. She knew she had to look strong for daughter, but she couldn't anymore. Not even two weeks after they'd moved back in, there were guns held to their heads in their own home! If Michael had been just a second later…

Tracey's hand on her shoulder brought her from her morbid thoughts. "He'll take care of this, right? We're gonna be okay?" she asked nervously.

"Yeah, he will. It's all gonna be fine…" Amanda smiled at her weakly because she was still trying to convince herself.

It seemed like an eternity before the gunshots finally stopped and the front door opened. "Trace? Amanda?" Michael called out. "I think they're gone!"

They stood up, sighing in relief, and opened the door, eyes widening at the mercenary hiding behind the corner. Amanda had just started to warn Michael before he came up the stairs and was hit in the head by the intruder, knocking him to the floor.

"I got you, you dick!" the Merryweather agent taunted her nearly unconscious husband.

Amanda and Tracey stood there, frozen in fear. "Fuck…" they cried.

"It's gonna be alright," Michael tried to comfort them, but when he looked up at her, his eyes were terrified. _I'm sorry,_ he mouthed.

The hired soldier just laughed. "No, it's not," he grinned, pushing the gun closer to Michael's face.

Just as his finger had moved to pull the trigger, the lights turned off. The gunman waved his gun around, alert. "What was that? Someone there…? I'm gonna start shooting!" he yelled, much to their horror. "Fuck...fuck!"

That was the last thing he said before something knocked him out from behind. It certainly wasn't Michael, who was still groaning in pain while on his back. She squinted in confusion through the darkness for a moment before her son started laughing. "Heh, heh...yeah, you like that don't ya, huh? Take it all!" Jimmy taunted.

Amanda turned the lights back on, where she saw her second weirdest sight of the day. Jimmy, in full military gear and night vision goggles with his bong in hand, crouching over her husband's face. "Oh…" she stuttered before Michael realized what was going on.

"Get...the fuck...OFF ME!" he growled, shoving Jimmy off of him and stumbling back onto his feet.

"Aw, I-I thought I was on that guy!" Jimmy whined, pointing to the unconscious mercenary.

"So, you sit on his face?!" Michael asked angrily.

"It's called teabagging! I really fucked him up good though, huh?" their son asked proudly, practically beaming at the accomplishment.

Michael frowned before guiding him into the bedroom where the rest of them were. "Uh, thanks, kid, I guess. Alright, listen, I'm gonna make a call," he said as he started to close the door. Amanda opened her mouth to protest before he gently cut her off. "It's all gonna be okay, stay put."

A few minutes later, he opened the door, letting them out. "Who were you calling?" Amanda asked.

"A hotel. We need to get out of here...get you somewhere safe…" Michael said quickly. "We need to pack-"

"Michael, slow down," she interrupted him. "We need to take care of you first."

"What about me? I'm fine," he said dismissively.

Annoyed, she grabbed his arm and led him into their bedroom and in front of the mirror. "No, you're not."

He was shivering from a combination of adrenaline and the icy rainwater still dripping from his soaked tuxedo. Blood ran down his face from where he'd been hit with the butt of the pistol, a dark bruise already forming there, and one of his sleeves was soaked in dark red which she suspected wasn't from the other guys.

Michael sat down, sighing and clutching his head. "Alright, maybe I'm not fine. Just...be quick, okay?" he pleaded, earning a nod from her.

As she started cleaning out the blood from the cut on his head, Amanda looked at herself in the mirror. Her makeup was ruined, streaks of mascara running down her cheeks, and her eyes were red and puffy from crying. The normal softness in her eyes was gone, replaced by complete fear.

She quickly looked down after she put a bandage over his cut, not even able to look at herself anymore, and turning her attention to the wound on his arm. Carefully, she took his jacket off and started to unbutton his shirt.

"You know...when I pictured you taking off my shirt tonight, I didn't think that it'd be like this," Michael attempted to joke.

The small laugh that she had managed was quickly cut short when she saw the bulletproof vest underneath his shirt with at least five bullets stuck in it. "Michael…" she started, fresh tears forming in her eyes.

"Good thing I don't leave home without one, huh?" he smiled at her sadly.

"Are things really this bad?" she asked shakily as she finished taking off the rest of his shirt, revealing the nasty looking bullet wound on his bicep.

"Not lately," he admitted, wincing as she cleaned and dressed the injury. "But usually...yeah, yeah, they have been."

"I thought you said that things were gonna better," Amanda muttered bitterly.

He shut his eyes, sighing. "I thought they would be."

* * *

Michael dragged their bags behind him while trying to shield Tracey from the sight of the dead bodies at the same time. "Don't look, sweetheart."

He heeded his own advice, too, quickly looking away when he glimpsed a body. When they finally made it outside, he quickly loaded their stuff into the car and practically sped out of the driveway the second everyone was in the car.

The drive to the hotel was a silent one, nobody really knowing what to say, and only put on a happy face while they were checking in. That act quickly dropped the second they got to their floor.

There was no expense spared when it came to their suite. Michael had gotten the most expensive one available, with three bedrooms and a balcony with a view of the city. Nobody really cared about how big their rooms were after what had just happened, but he needed anything to make him feel less guilty.

Everybody quickly grabbed their bags and went into their separate rooms, leaving Michael alone with his thoughts.

* * *

He poked his head into Tracey's room. "Hey, baby girl. How are you holding up?" Michael asked in a gentle voice.

"Fine," she said flatly. Her eyes were emotionless and fixated on a spot on the wall.

With a sigh, he went into the room and sat down on the bed next to her. "You're not. I know you're scared, but you can talk to me, Trace."

"Daddy...what if they come back?" her voice was quivering as she looked up at him with a childlike fear that he hadn't seen in years.

"They won't. I'm gonna do everything I can to protect you guys. Look...I know I'm not the perfect father, especially after what happened tonight, but I'm gonna keep you safe," he said soothingly and tucked her into bed like she was a kid again.

She smiled at him tiredly. "Thanks…"

"No problem. Now, get some sleep," he said softly.

Michael stood up and had just started walking towards the door before he heard a sleepy murmur from Tracey, "I love you, dad."

A small smile crossed his face. "I love you, too, sweetheart," he said before going to check on the others. A cursory glance into Jimmy's room showed that he was playing his video games as if they were at home and nothing had happened.

"So I shut the lights off and use my ninja skills to knock the guy out!" he bragged over his headset. "And then I teabag the guy after saving everyone's asses! It was crazy, man!"

Michael just rolled his eyes and shut the door, drowning out his son's bragging. He walked outside onto the balcony where he found Amanda. She was facing away from him and staring out at the skyline of the city.

"Hey," he said quietly, coming up behind her and gently wrapping his arms around her waist.

She immediately turned around and shoved him away with a look of disgust. "Don't."

"Don't what?" he asked in confusion, but pulled away regardless.

"Don't fucking act like nothing happened tonight. Don't act like I want to jump into your arms after you saved me even though it was _you_ who got us into danger in the first place!" Amanda's voice raised as she shoved him again.

"Amanda, calm down," he said softly, trying to comfort her. "I know you're upset right now…"

"Oh, you think?" she asked sarcastically. "Tell me something, Michael: do you really think that locking us up in some fancy hotel will make everything suddenly okay? That at the end of the day our entire family wasn't almost murdered only a week after we moved back in?"

Michael sighed. "Kind of, but-"

She scoffed. "Of course you'd think that. I forgot that everything is about _you_. Sad Michael is fucking sad again! Maybe if you'd been thinking about us at all, this wouldn't have happened! It's funny, Michael, how nobody tried to kill us when we weren't with you!"

Wordlessly, he turned away from her and started walking back towards the door, about to go back inside before her words cut him off.

"Don't you run away from this. I want you to know that if you would have been just a second later, we would have been dead! Dead because of YOU!" Amanda just kept yelling at him, tearing into him until there was nothing left, until he couldn't take it anymore.

"Stop," he said weakly, his voice deadly calm. "E-fucking-nough already…"

"Not until you admit that you don't care about anything other than yourself-" she protested.

He turned back around to face her. "Jesus fucking Christ, Amanda…you don't think that I know that I'm everything you say I am? I know that I'm a fucking pathetic piece of shit, a monster, and a terrible father and husband, but I'm trying to deal with it. Trying and failing, apparently," he laughed resentfully and wiped at his eyes, revealing the tears forming in them.

Her eyes widened at the sight. Michael never cried, or at least not in front of her. Not once had she seen him cry. Not once in their long and complicated relationship. "Uh, I'm-" she began, not finding the right words to say.

Michael quickly stopped her. "Don't start feeling sorry for me now. You wanna know something? When you were gone, the thought of seeing you and the kids again was the only thing keeping me going. Even when I wanted to give up, end it all. And when you came back...I was so happy for the first time in so long. And now it's gone. Again..."

He paused after that, needing a minute to regain his composure. He let out a deep breath and ran his hands down his face before continuing. "Look...I get if you're finally done with me. After this shit is over with, go. Leave, take the kids, never see me again. If that's what it takes for you to be happy, I don't care. All I want is for you guys to be safe."

Amanda was reeling over what he'd just revealed to her. Soon enough, she felt tears running down her own face. "Michael, please…" she begged.

"Just...stop. I'll tell you when it's safe to leave. Goodbye, Amanda," he said tiredly. With that, he turned on his heels and started walking away.

She just stood there in shock for a second as she watched him go. She thought of what he'd told her, about how miserable he'd been, and realized she was just as miserable without him. If she let him leave now, she knew that she'd never see him again. Before she knew it, she was weakly yelling his name. "Michael!"

It was enough to make him pause long enough for her to run over and stand in between him and the door. Michael looked down at her in so much confusion and _so much_ sadness. "What're you doing?" he asked before she put her hands on his cheeks and kissed him.

Amanda could feel him relax under her touch and he pulled her closer to him, his body slackening against the kiss. It was soft and slow, almost cautious, even.

"Please don't leave," she murmured after they drew apart.

Michael sighed in relief, his breath warm when it touched her lips, and whispered in her ear, "Never," before he picked her up and pinned her against the door. Their lips met again, the kiss full of unrelenting passion and relief.

This didn't make anything okay, they both knew that, but they also knew that they would deal with this way better than they ever could if they were apart. They were stronger than the things that had nearly destroyed them. Somehow, she knew, that they would get through this and make their relationship better. Better than it was a few months ago, better than it was now, better than it was even when they got married.

He impatiently pushed her further into the door before her frantic fingers managed to get it open. Michael quickly carried her into their bedroom and laid her down on the bed, his deft hands already taking her shirt off.

Amanda had just finished unbuttoning his shirt before she sat up and broke down in tears . She saw the bruises left from the bullets that would have killed him had it not been for his vest, saw the bandaged gunshot wound on his arm, saw the new scars covering his body. "I'm so sorry, Michael…" she sobbed.

"Don't you be sorry for _anything._ Not right now. I'm the one who's sorry for everything, darling," he said sadly as he pressed his lips to her forehead and waited for her crying to calm down. "We can stop if you want."

"No." She shook her head, grabbing the collar of his undone shirt and tugging him into another kiss. Her fingers moved down to his belt and quickly undid it, tossing it aside to the floor.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked gently, staring deep into her eyes.

"Yes," she whispered before wrapping her hands around his neck. "Just shut up and kiss me."

* * *

Neither of them got much sleep that night, between her waking up screaming from newfound nightmares and him having to comfort her. Eventually though, with his arms wrapped tightly around her and her having exhausted all of her tears, they managed to fall into a deep sleep.

Amanda woke up first to streams of sunlight coming through the blinds. She looked at her husband and delicately pressed a kiss to his cheek. Michael slowly woke up with a sleepy smirk. "Mornin'..." he greeted.

"You're not any of the things I said you were. You're so much better than all of that, Michael," she murmured. "If anything, those things are all about me."

"They're not. I know you were pissed and you said some things you probably didn't mean, even though I don't blame you," he chuckled. "I love you, you know."

"I do…" she said. "I love you, too."

He looked at her with a small frown on his face. "Are we gonna be okay, Amanda?"

"I'm not gonna lie...it's going to take a long time, especially after last night, and it's not gonna be easy, but…" she gave him a quick peck on the lips before giving him a soft smile. "I think we just might make it, Michael."


	24. Trouble In Paradise

_Long story short, this was the first chapter I ever wrote for this fic, but I'm only posting it now because I had rewrite a lot of parts because I wasn't satisfied with it. I felt quite dirty writing this one because it's when Michael cheats on Amanda, but decided to do it because it's such a turning point in their relationship._

* * *

 _What am I doing?_

That was the only thought that could form in Michael's drunken, confused mind as he mindlessly fucked a girl who wasn't his wife in his own bed.

He remembered a fight. Vaguely remembered his wife looking at him like he was a stranger and the argument that followed.

" _God, I feel like I don't even know you anymore! You're either out doing who knows what or you're staring miserably at the clouds, you only talk to the kids when you're drunk-"_

" _I don't only talk to them when I'm drunk! I don't think...it gets kinda fuzzy..."_

" _I am tired of your bullshit, Michael. Tired…"_

" _Jesus...what the fuck do you want from me, Amanda?"_

" _I want you to participate in this marriage again! I want the man I love back..."_

" _Yeah, well, he's never gonna come back! Sorry, but life ain't fair, sweetheart."_

" _The way you're treating me isn't fair, Michael," she'd told him before storming out and slamming the front door behind her._

He shook his head, trying to forget their latest fight. They argued more often than not now. Oh, they'd argued about money all the time back in North Yankton and of course there was the typical married couple arguments...but these were different. They were...hateful.

This was how he ended up here, he supposed, with a stripper underneath him and his wife oblivious to what he was doing. He barely even remembered how he got here other than going out, getting drunk, and seeing the neon lights of the strip club across the street from the bar.

A little voice in the back of his mind had told him to get the hell out of there before he ended up doing something he regretted. It wasn't hard to realize now that he'd failed to resist temptation.

Michael just growled in frustration at his failure and kept going, harder and faster. His lips found the side of the stripper's neck and listened to the moans of the girl beneath him. She was nothing like Amanda, but his wife wasn't even on his mind anymore. His head was swimming in a rough sea of alcohol and he just needed a distraction. A distraction from the mess that his life was, the anger and misery that was bottling up and poisoning him, a distraction from his doomed marriage.

Neither of them noticed the doorknob starting to turn, Michael too distracted and too wasted to care and the girl too busy gasping for breath.

" _Michael_?! What the fuck are you doing?!" Amanda yelled, standing the doorway in shock.

Michael immediately stopped and turned his head to look at her. His blood ran cold, suddenly feeling sober, and the weight of what he'd just done hit him. "Amanda, I...I can explain…" he stuttered out, even though there was nothing really to explain when she had literally caught him in the act.

Her tear-filled eyes darted between him and the stripper, who had gotten up and started to get dressed. Amanda just stood in the door, eerily silent, with her hands clenched into fists, looking like she was ready to leap at the other girl at any moment.

She was seething with barely contained rage as she quietly said, "Get out of my house." The moment the stripper shot her a smirk was when she lost it. "GET OUT!" she screamed, jumping forward with Michael barely able to hold her back in time. She fought hard against his grip. "Let me _GO_ , you fucking asshole!"

After preventing his wife from murdering the stripper he never should have met, Amanda ran off, slamming the door behind her. Michael hastily got dressed and chased after her, swearing to himself. "God damn it, what the fuck did I just do?"

He found her on the balcony near the tennis court, staring blankly at the bright skyline of the city. Michael reached out to comfort her, but Amanda quickly pulled back in disgust. " _Don't_ ," she said, tears running down her face. "Just fucking don't. Leave me alone, Michael."

So he did. He got in his car and drove aimlessly around the city, hoping that this whole day was all just a nightmare and he'd wake up beside his beautiful wife. He didn't really have anywhere he needed or really even wanted to go, he just couldn't face Amanda right now.

The look on her face...he saw it every time he shut his eyes. She'd looked so betrayed, so...broken. There was no going back from this, he knew. The blind love and innocence she'd always had in her eyes whenever she looked at him had been gone, replaced by sadness and pure hatred.

He'd done _a lot_ of stupid, bad things in his life and he regretted them every single day, but he already knew that this would be the one that he'd regret the most. Now he was the bad guy in his own family.

Michael had circled the entirety of Los Santos before he finally gathered up enough nerve to go back home. The second he laid eyes on his house, he wanted nothing more than to turn around and go somewhere far away. And he nearly did before saying, "Fuck it" and deciding that it was time to face the music. As he pulled into the driveway, he wondered if seeing Amanda's car still there was a good or bad thing.

He sat in his car for a few minutes before getting the courage to go inside. He found Amanda asleep on the couch, a nearly empty bottle of wine by her. A million regrets went through his mind when he saw that even in her sleep, she looked sad. He debated whether or not to disturb her, but eventually decided that their room offered more privacy.

Michael picked Amanda up, sighing a bit in relief when she didn't wake up. _Bridal style,_ he thought numbly. He carried his wife through the living room and up the staircase, almost admiring the way she felt light as a feather in his arms. Halfway up the stairs, he tripped, barely managing not to drop her.

"Shit," he cursed softly, hoping that she would stay asleep.

Sure enough, she woke up, an almost peaceful look crossing her features before the reality of the horrible, _horrible_ situation they found themselves in set in. Amanda looked around drowsily before realizing Michael was carrying her. She immediately broke down crying again, fighting against his arms. Michael ignored her protests and continued going up the stairs.

"I hate you...I hate you…" Amanda sobbed, her anger fading into exhaustion.

"I hate me, too," Michael muttered mostly to himself, opening the bedroom door. He set her down on the bed gently, hoping she'd fall asleep quickly. Slowly, he walked out of the bedroom and quietly shut the door behind him. He leaned against the door and sank to the ground, shutting his eyes. "What have I _done_?" he groaned, putting his face in his hands.

Michael knew he should get up and do _something_ , anything, but the rush of adrenaline he got was wearing off and the alcohol he'd had started to affect him again. So, instead he just sat there for a few minutes, cursing to himself. Cursing himself, cursing that stripper, cursing Amanda for having to see that. Just cursing the world. He barely glanced up when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Daddy?" Tracey asked him hesitantly.

"Hm?" he grunted, not even bothering to lecture her on how late it was.

"What happened?" she shifted uncomfortably, obviously having heard the encounter he'd just had with his wife.

"Uhh...nothing," he lied, even though he could still hear his wife's bawling in the bedroom. Michael raised his head, sighing. "Just...get some sleep, sweetie. It'll be okay," he smiled faintly at his daughter, even if he was still trying to convince himself.

Time seemed void as he sat there for God knows how long, listening to a reminder of his mistake through the bedroom door. He only got up when Amanda's crying became too much to bear and ran straight back to his car.

Michael drove even more recklessly through the streets of Los Santos, probably breaking more than a few traffic laws on top of the fact that he was still a little bit drunk. He honestly didn't really care if he got pulled over or crashed his car, he just wanted to deal with anything but what had happened a few hours ago.

* * *

Before long, it was morning and he had somehow found himself sitting at his dock slip, staring lifelessly at the water.

Michael sighed and shut his eyes, trying to forget last night. He had came to the docks for a couple reasons that morning, one of them being to escape Amanda's rage. If there was one thing he'd learned in all the years they'd been married, it was not to piss her off. Of course, he'd done way more than just piss her off, but like the coward he was, he was avoiding her for as long as he could.

The other reason he went to the docks was the relaxing effect the ocean had on him. Michael didn't even want to touch alcohol after last night so the docks seemed like a better option than a bar. He paused for a moment, gazing lovingly at his boat. Sure, he didn't really use it much, didn't really have anyone to go with anyways... but it calmed him just looking at it. It allowed him to dream about a world where he actually used the damn thing, a world where his family would want to go with them, a world where they'd all be happy.

The sea allowed him to think, too. To think about what his life would be like if he wasn't such a _fuck up._ What if he hadn't cheated on his wife? What if he hadn't gone to the strip club and got wasted? What if he hadn't argued with her even though she was right? What if he really _had_ died seven years ago in North Yankton? He sighed in frustration. There were no two words filled with regret and longing than " _what if."_

Michael was jolted from his thoughts by a shadow looming over him. He glanced up to see Amanda, her face contorted in rage. _Just when I thought when my day couldn't get any better_ , he thought bitterly.

"Fuck me..." Michael muttered under his breath, uneasily standing up.

"Someone already did," came the sarcastic reply.

"Funny…" he snapped as he glared at her, obviously not amused, before his expression changed to confusion. "How'd you even know I was here?"

"You always come here when you're avoiding something...or someone," her voice grew soft, pitying almost, before the mask of anger returned. "Why? Why did you do it? I know things have been falling apart between us these past couple years but not like _this…._ "

"Look, I don't even remember what happened last night, Amanda," he tried to convince her, but her face showed that she was having none of it. "It was a mistake, but god damn it if I needed a distraction from all of this shit."

"So...what? You decided to screw a stripper because I decided that I'm not just something that you can play with when you get bored?! You are unbelievable, Michael," she shook her head in disappointment.

He scoffed. "Don't act so high and mighty. I've seen you flirting with guys at the bar."

"Yeah, and that's all it is! Flirting! I wish I could say the same for you," Amanda rolled her eyes, managing to look even more irritated. "You know what...I should have seen this coming a long time ago."

"What are you talking about?" He was starting to get annoyed himself, wishing he didn't have to be having this conversation at all, much less right now.

She was practically on the warpath. "Are you kidding me? For _years_ now, all you've been doing is drinking yourself to death, ignoring me and the kids! I've been trying to single-handedly raise our kids while you're off self-loathing!"

"I'll try to change, alright? Look, I'm really not in the mood for this..." Michael said, rubbing his forehead, trying to chase away the pain of the hangover he had.

"I don't care! Did ever take a second to think about how _I_ felt? About how much it hurt to come home and find my husband of almost _twenty years_ fucking some whore in my own bed?" her voice rose with each sentence. She was yelling by the time she was finished, which earned the looks of some nearby people.

He anxiously looked around at them. "Amanda, calm down."

"Oh, sorry, am _I_ embarrassing you?" she asked, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "This is a role reversal."

After that comment, all of the anger suddenly went out of her and her shoulders slumped in exhaustion. "Amanda?" he asked as gently as he could. His own frustration faded away, the guilt starting to consume him again.

When she looked up at him, she looked so tired and so done with him. "I...I'm done. I need to get out of here," she said, starting to walk away.

"Amanda, wait," Michael said pleadingly, stepping in front of her. She just glared at him and expectantly waited for him to move, but he wasn't budging.

"Get out of my way," she growled and roughly shoved him aside. Michael, still a little bit drunk and reeling from the force of her push, stumbled off of the small dock and into the murky, polluted water with a splash. When he got over his shock and confusion and came up, gasping for air, he saw that she was about as shocked as he was, but soon smiled in satisfaction.

"What the hell?" Michael spluttered angrily, wiping the water from his eyes.

"That wasn't even close to what you deserve," she smirked.

Something in Michael snapped. Maybe it was the fact that it seemed like they were broken beyond repair, or maybe it was that his wife finally hated him, but he felt something break in him and he was yelling at her before he could stop himself. "You know what? Fine! Do whatever the _fuck_ you want! See if I care!"

"Fine!" Amanda shouted back and quickly turned around and started walking away from him. She didn't let her tears fall until she was in her car so he wouldn't see her break down again. She, like her husband, hid her pain behind anger.

* * *

 _Not again._

Michael stood there, face red with anger, as he finally figured out that she was screwing the yoga instructor. It was all too familiar, the way she smiled at him, the way she pressed her body against his. It was then that the red mist descended and he charged headfirst at the other man.

Before he knew it, he was tripped into the pool and his wife was yelling at him as soon as his head appeared above the surface of the water.

"We are leaving and we are never coming back!"

"Good!" Michael replied as he coughed out water, crawling to the edge of the pool.

"You are _alone_ , you pathetic psychopath!" Amanda yelled and stormed off, boy toy hanging off her arm, leaving him there to sulk.

"Fuck you! And that phony French...fucking yogi!" Michael growled, finally managing to get out of the water. He sighed, trying to dry himself off. He tried to shake it off as just another stupid fight, she'd be back in a few hours and they'd act like nothing ever happened. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't. The last time he'd seen her that mad was three years ago, which was where everything started going wrong.

* * *

Later, when he finally returned home, he realized that his worst fears had been confirmed. She was gone, taken the kids somewhere far away from him. _Maybe it's for the best_ , he thought as he took another drink. He'd long stopped being any good for them. Long stopped being good for her ever since she found him with that stripper.

Halfway through the bottle of whiskey, he'd figured out that she'd had the affairs to show him how she had felt that day, but, of course, he kept ignoring her and let her sleep with other men. At least, until today happened.

"So _stupid_ …" he said under his breath, taking another swig, before putting the bottle down beside him after remembering the last time he was drunk like this in his bed.

That night, laying in bed alone with only the alcohol beside him, he thought of something he should have said to her today, something he should have said three years ago, _I'm sorry, Amanda_.


	25. Tennis Court

_Sorry for the lack of uploads recently. Work has been busy, giving me less time to write. Anyway, last chapter was kind of dark so I decided to uploaded something a bit lighter. I've been doing a lot of tennis in GTA recently and have been loving the "friendship" that Trevor and Amanda have while playing tennis, inspiring this chapter._

* * *

 _Forty eight, forty nine, fifty._ Michael set the weights down for a moment, letting out a deep breath. He smiled in contentment for a moment at the energy coursing through his veins and the strength in his arms. The lack of jobs he'd been doing lately combined with all of the alcohol he'd been drinking left him with a couple more pounds then he'd like, which was why Trevor had dragged him here in the first place. With the way that he was feeling now, he definitely wasn't complaining.

He picked the weights back up, his eyes fixated on the tiled ceiling of the gym as he started another set. The sight of his girlfriend suddenly leaning over him nearly made him drop the weights onto his chest in shock. "Jesus fucking Christ, Mandy, are you trying to kill me?!" he breathed out, putting the weights down and getting up from the bench to face her.

"Sorry, babe," she just grinned at him, her own face flushed from exercise. "You know, I was kind of liking the few extra pounds. It made you finally grow an ass," Amanda whispered in his ear, reaching down and gripping said ass.

"Hon, let's save this 'till we get home," he said through hitched breath. He surveyed the nearly empty gym, thinking. "So, what now?"

"Mmm...I'd love to watch you do some pushups," she smirked, fingers running over the taut muscles in his arms.

"Of course you do," he chuckled, gently grabbing her free hand and leading her over to the mats. "Well, your wish is my command," he said as he dropped down onto all fours and began.

She bit her lip as she watched him in admiration. "You make this look easy…"

"Oh, yeah?" he asked, voice filled with cockiness. He put one of his arms behind his back and started doing them with one hand. "How about this?"

"God, you're an ass," she said under her breath, even though she couldn't tear her eyes away from him, away from the glimpses of his athletic body when his shirt lifted up.

"You know, this still feels pretty easy," Michael commented. "Think I need a bigger challenge."

"I can help with that," she grinned. She gently positioned herself over him and sat on top of his back, immediately noticing him struggle under her weight. "Not so easy now, huh?"

"You're loving this, aren't you?" he grunted through quick breaths.

"Too much," Amanda said seductively, resting her hands on his shoulders, feeling the tense muscles beneath his shirt.

"Okay, now you're just trying to distract me," he growled in accusation, his pace starting to falter every so often.

"Maybe-" she started before a loud, booming voice cut her off.

"MIKEY!" Trevor's voice practically echoed through the gym, causing the both of them to fall to the floor in surprise. The psychopath walked over to them, eyebrows raising when he saw the couple tangled together on the floor. "Sorry to interrupt you lovebirds…"

"What do you want, Trevor?" Michael brushed himself off with a glare at the other man.

Trevor pointed the tennis racket that he was brandishing at him. "You. Me. Tennis. Now."

"Why, so I can kick your ass again?" Michael teased. "I'll pass."

"Ugh, have it your way, Townley. You're just afraid of losing," Trevor snapped before storming off.

Amanda saw him walk off to the tennis courts, a contemplative look on her face. She gave Michael a quick kiss on the cheek before getting up. "I'll be right back, babe."

Michael watched her leave, leaving him there to sulk by himself. With a sigh, he walked back over to the weights.

* * *

 _Where the hell is she?_ he wondered. It had taken him nearly twenty minutes to realize that she still hadn't come back. Michael started to look through the gym before remembering their encounter with Trevor. He immediately ran over to the tennis courts, where he saw his girlfriend and his best friend engaged in a game of tennis.

"You know, we might have been in the same tennis club when we were kids," Trevor called out as he served the ball.

Amanda just scoffed at that. "If we were, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have spoken to you."

They went on like that for a while, bantering and hitting it back and forth, before Amanda had to jump out of the way when the tennis ball came straight for her head.

It was then that they noticed Michael, standing there with his mouth agape in confusion. "Ah, Mikey, we were just talking about you!" Trevor grinned maniacally at him.

Michael managed to shut his mouth and shifted nervously from where he was standing. "Good things, I hope?"

"Actually, your crazy friend here was telling me that whoever wins gets the _pleasure_ of being your best friend," Amanda said sarcastically, brushing a few strands of damp hair away from her forehead.

"And who's winning?" he asked as he looked between them.

Amanda opened her mouth, sighing, but Trevor cut her off before she could say anything. "I am one point away from keeping my position as your partner in crime."

"Okay…" Michael said slowly. "Uh, just act like I'm not here, I guess."

They obliged and continued their game as Michael wondered if this whole situation was a hallucination that his exhausted, over-exercised brain was thinking up. That was until a sweaty hand clapped him on the shoulder roughly. He glanced up to see Trevor smirking at him and Amanda standing off to the side with an annoyed look.

"And with that, I am Michael Townley's bestest friend!" Trevor announced cheerfully and wrapped his arm around Michael's shoulder.

Michael stiffened under the clammy touch. "Jesus Christ, T…" he muttered. He looked over to Amanda, who was watching them in amusement, his eyes silently pleading for help.

She just winked at him. "Babe, I'm getting kind of tired…" she said, feigning an exhausted yawn. "Do you wanna drive me home?"

"Oh, yeah, of course," Michael stammered, barely able to suppress his sigh of relief. "Sorry, T, but I gotta get going."

Trevor pushed him away. "Go. I'll see you two later. Let's do it again sometime!" he shouted as he walked away, tennis racket still in hand.

"Thanks for that," Michael smiled at her as soon as he was out of earshot.

Amanda laughed. "I couldn't let you suffer through that. Not after I got a glimpse of what being his friend is like."

"Why did you play with him, anyway?"

"I haven't played in a while and I wanted some practice," she explained. "I didn't really expect him to actually be good…"

He laughed at that. "So, do you still want me to drive you home?" he asked.

"Well...I was thinking that you could take me home and we could hit the shower?" she whispered as she put a hand on his chest.

"I sure need one after that…" he said under his breath before grinning at her prospect. "And, yeah, of course. It _is_ the best part about going to the gym with you…"

* * *

Amanda sat at the edge of the pool with a content smile on her face. Michael was at work, the kids were out of the house for once, leaving her all alone in the house. She was glad, though. It gave her an opportunity for her to appreciate silence that was rare in their chaotic house. She stared down at the water, not paying enough attention to notice the footsteps behind her or the hands roughly grabbing her.

Through her fear and shock, she barely had time to fight back before her assailant threw her into the pool. The coldness of the water instantly hit her, making her even more disoriented. Once she got over her confusion, she started swimming up to the surface of the water, fully expecting her husband to be smirking at her the second she reached air.

When she came up, coughing, she was met with a much different sight than that she was anticipating. "Trevor. What are you doing here?" she snapped, wiping the water away from her eyes.

"Amanda, is that really how you greet an old friend?" Trevor asked, looking down at her with mock hurt.

"We're not friends," she quickly said. She sighed and rested her arms on the edge of the pool, glaring up at him.

"You know, I almost felt _bad_ about interrupting your meditation or whatever the fuck you do these days," he frowned, eyeing her soaked and very pissed off appearance. "But now..."

She just let out a deep breath, trying to keep herself from screaming at him. "Seriously, why are you here? Finally gonna kill us all? Sorry to disappoint you, but it's just me right now."

Trevor's eyes darted around the backyard shiftily. "Where's Michael?"

"At work. Because he has an actual job that's good for him now," she shot back, venom dripping from her voice.

"Ouch," he winced. "...but I'll tell you one thing, Mandy: he sure seemed to be having fun a few months ago."

Her hands clenched into fists under the water. "Why do you need Michael?" she asked as calmly as she could.

He glanced over to the tennis court with an almost longing look. It was then that she noticed the god-awful tennis outfit that he was wearing and the eager expression on his face. "Well…" he started.

Amanda just sighed, knowing that there was only one way to get rid of him. "Let me go get changed."

* * *

"Amanda? Hon, I'm home…" Michael called out as he opened the front door to their house. As soon as he took a step inside, he nearly slipped on a pool of water and had to steady himself to stay upright. "The fuck...?" he muttered confusedly, his eyes following from the puddle to the trail of water going upstairs.

Cursing to himself, he followed it all the way into their empty bedroom where it led to a pile of his wife's wet clothes. "And you get at me for dragging water into the house…" he grumbled under his breath.

He sighed in annoyance, going downstairs and into the back, still not finding her. A list of all of the bad things that could have happened to her started to run through his mind. Devin was dead, Madrazo was dealt with, but they'd taken care of Merryweather...right? He had just started to panic when he heard a cruel laugh from the tennis court.

"I guess that coach really didn't teach you much after all…"

 _Trevor?_

Michael ran down the stairs to the tennis court and was met with the sight of Trevor gleefully waving his tennis racket around and Amanda crossing her arms in frustration.

"Well, at least you won't kill me now," she said sarcastically, before looking up and noticing Michael. "Oh, thank god…" she muttered under her breath.

Trevor's attention snapped over to Michael. "Ah, Mikey, we were waiting for you, you inconsiderate shit! Making your lady wait here all alone…"

"Yeah, remind me to come to you for relationship advice," Michael managed to say through his shock of what he was seeing. Trevor's tennis outfit was...interesting. His dirty white polo shirt hung off of his scrawny frame like a tent, but his shorts were shorter and tighter than what most of the young girls in Los Santos wore. _Is that a headband…?_ Michael wondered in slight amazement when he caught sight of the few strands of fabric wrapped around his friend's head. "No offense, bro, but how the fuck did you get inside?"

"Your fence isn't very high," was Trevor's simple answer.

Michael raised his eyebrows in shock. "Uh, okay, and what are you doing…?" he asked, gesturing to his wife and the tennis court.

"Oh, she just looked so bored because you leave her home all day while you go work with pretty actresses," the psychopath explained, earning a glare from Amanda. "So, after some...persuasion...we did a battle for your friendship. I won, by the way."

"Persuasion? The fuck does that mean?" Michael's voice started to rise at the vague statement.

"He threw me into the pool after scaring the shit out of me," Amanda deadpanned, making Trevor smirk in satisfaction. "And he wonders why I don't like him."

"Long story short: I'm still your best friend! Not her, not Franklin, and not any of the rich fucks you've met here!" Trevor waved his tennis racket around happily, nearly missing hitting Michael in the face with it.

"I...I need a fucking drink…" was all Michael could say before he started to go inside, Amanda following him and Trevor right behind them.

As soon as they made it into the kitchen, Michael popped open a new bottle of whiskey and poured his glass to the top. The second he was done, Amanda took the alcohol from him and took a long drink straight out of the bottle. He just laughed at that, knowing that she probably needed it more than him.

Trevor just watched them drink with a frown. "Jesus...no wonder those kids are so fucked up…"

Michael flipped him off as he took a sip from his own glass. "Oh, because you're such a good role model," he said sarcastically.

He instantly knew that comment was a mistake as Trevor started to physically shake with rage. He was wound tight as a coil and Michael could almost feel the rage radiating from him. _Shit_. Whenever Trevor got like this, he was a ticking time bomb just begging for a chance to go off. Michael knew he needed to take his next steps very carefully.

"Oh, c'mon, T, lighten up. We…" he started, gesturing to the three of them. "We're all fuckin' terrible examples and I dunno about you, but I accepted that a long time ago…"

Slowly, the ball of rage that was named Trevor calmed down. "...fine," he muttered.

"So, are we cool?" Michael asked him calmly.

"We...are good," Trevor said after a long moment.

"Good. Now, are you gonna stay for a drink or what?" Michael raised his glass of whiskey at him in question.

Trevor shook his head. "Nah, I better get going. I have a business to attend to, nothing you'd understand of course, Mr. Leisure."

Michael rolled his eyes and took another drink. "Uh huh, of course. Well, I'll cya around, T."

The psychopath had just started for the door when he turned around quickly and pointed at Amanda. "Same time next week?" he worded it as a statement more than a question.

She sighed. "...I guess."

He nodded in satisfaction and opened the door. "Don't forget, I'm your best friend!" was all he said before he slammed the door behind him.

Michael and Amanda just stared at the doorway in disbelief. "Well, that was fucking interesting," he said after a minute.

"Yep," she agreed before putting her face in her hands. "God, it was awful, Michael…"

"Oh, it couldn't have been _that_ bad," he said dismissively.

She shook her head forcefully. "Oh, no, you don't understand. He kept going on about how it was just like old times and all this shit...and I let him win because God knows what would have happened if _he_ lost…" Amanda rambled on, voice still shaky with nerves.

Michael wrapped his arms around her waist and stroked her hair in an attempt to calm her down. "God, you smell like pool water, babe…" he said before he could stop himself.

Her glare practically burned through him. "Real helpful," she snapped.

"Aw, come on, babe, look on the bright side," he said lightheartedly.

She looked at him as if he were high. "What bright side?"

"Now you have a new tennis partner."


	26. Lost Time

_This chapter is (kind of) special. As some of you may know, GTA V is now four years old as of today. So, I've been waiting to post this chapter until today, which is about the first anniversary Michael and Amanda have after the ending of the game. Enjoy :D_

* * *

"Amanda? Are you ready yet?" Michael called out from the bottom of the stairs, glancing down at his watch. He anxiously tugged at the tie around his neck and waited for her response.

"Yeah, one sec!" she called out from their bedroom, earning a sigh from him.

"Come on, we're gonna be late for our reservation!" he said impatiently. He barely got the sentence out before she appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Happy anniversary, darling," Amanda smiled softly at him. The sight of her made him speechless, making his jaw drop in awe. Her lips were her favorite color: red. Red as blood and passion and love. The black dress that she wore was maybe a little too short, but it clung to her in all the right places and brought out the brightness in her eyes.

"You look…" _Beautiful? Amazing?_ "...hot," he said dumbly, immediately wanting to kick himself for saying that. It was as if he was in his twenties again and didn't have a damn clue on what to say to her. _Idiot..._

She giggled at his comment. "You're not looking too bad yourself. Except…" her eyes narrowed in concentration as she adjusted his crooked bow tie. "There. Now you look even more handsome."

Her fingers lightly traveled over to his shoulders to smooth over the collar of his tuxedo and lingered there for a long moment. He had just started to lean in before their daughter sauntered in.

"Aw, you two look so cute!" Tracey practically squealed with excitement. "It's so weird not seeing you scream and fight…"

"Yeah, fucking eerie ain't it?" Michael asked. "But I gotta say that I like this a lot better."

"Me too. So, um, how long are you gonna be gone?" Tracey asked, hastily trying to change the subject.

Michael glared at her suspiciously. "A while. There better be no boys or parties here while we're gone."

Tracey pouted. "You're no fun," she muttered before storming back upstairs.

Michael and Amanda just laughed at her desperation. "She really wants us out of the house, huh?" Amanda smirked.

"Yeah, she does...so we better make her wish come true before we're late," Michael said, grabbing her hand and leading her outside to the car.

* * *

"Hell of a lot better than the old bars we used to go to, huh?" he asked her as he led her out of the most expensive restaurant in the city.

"At least at those I could get a drink that cost me less than fifty bucks. I _could_ get used to this though…" she admitted. "So, what's next on the agenda?"

Michael opened the car door for her and got in after her. "Well…" he started before pulling a small box out of his jacket pocket. "Happy anniversary, sweetheart."

She just looked at him in confusion before opening it, revealing the engagement ring he'd bought for her all those years ago. "I thought I lost it…" Amanda whispered. "How...where did you…?"

"You threw it at me during one of our fights. Then you left and I didn't think anything of it...but when you came back, I dug around and found it. What do you think?" he asked her nervously.

A relieved grin spread across her face as she slipped it onto her finger. "It's amazing...I-I'm so glad you found it. God, you're gonna make me ruin my makeup already, you ass," she laughed as she quickly wiped away the tears forming in her eyes.

"Oh, I can help with that…" he said before leaning over and kissing her. The lipstick stuck to his mouth, turning his own lips a crimson red. She didn't even care, just kept kissing him harder. The redness of it felt even more intoxicating when it met his tongue. Her hands buried into his hair, the metal of the ring feeling cool against his head.

"Darling, let's wait till later," he pulled away breathlessly when her hand brushed against his belt teasingly. "I still have a couple more surprises."

Amanda nodded and reapplied her lipstick, eyebrows narrowed with concentration as she looked at herself in the mirror of the car. "Actually, babe, can I drive? I need to show you something…" she said vaguely.

Michael raised an eyebrow at that, but still got out of the car and let her into the driver's seat. "So, what is it?" he asked as he rubbed the makeup off of his mouth.

"An anniversary surprise of my own," she said, blue eyes glinting with excitement. She smiled at him mysteriously. Predatorily, dangerously, like the night they met. His heart started to thump against his chest at that. "So, close your eyes."

"What?"

"You heard me. Close your eyes," she demanded, fingers tapping against the steering wheel impatiently while she waited for him to oblige.

"Fine," he sighed and shut his eyes.

"Good boy," she teased before starting the car back up.

* * *

"Alright, open them."

Michael hesitantly opened his eyes to the sight of the garage he owned in downtown Vinewood. He'd bought it a couple months ago, after all of the heat had died down, and had taken to fixing up old cars in it. "Why are we here?" he asked.

"Just trust me," she said reassuringly and led him inside. His gaze scanned over the garage, at all of the classic cars he had, before he noticed a new one hidden beneath a tarp. Amanda just nodded when he looked at it and back at her. "Go on."

He took it off and his eyes widened when he saw what was underneath it. A sleek, jet black sports car that looked vaguely familiar with a red bow resting on the hood. But the part that surprised him the most was the license plate that read "Meltdown".

"I'm sorry that you missed the movie premiere," she said softly. "So I got you something that might help."

It dawned on him where he'd seen the car before, in all of the action scenes they'd shot using it, from the movie he'd watched at least a dozen times, the movie he'd helped work on. "Babe, is...is this the car they used in Meltdown?" his voice was nearly a whisper, shaky from amazement.

She grinned at his enthusiasm, the same enthusiasm that he'd had for years about movies. "The same one."

Michael's hand was shaking with excitement when he reached out to run his hand over the hood. "No fuckin' way...how did you get this?"

"Well, the studio wasn't using it and it took a _lot_ of convincing your boss…" she admitted. "...but they let me buy it for you just in time for today."

"This is mine now?" he asked hesitantly, half expecting her to tell him that she was fucking with him.

"For the last time, yes, it's all yours," she laughed as she pressed the car keys into his hand.

"I...uh...wow…" he stuttered, running a hand through his hair nervously, unable to find the right words to say because nobody had ever done something like this for him before. "Thank you, Amanda…"

Amanda shook her head. "Don't thank me. Plus, maybe this will make you stop forcing me to watch the movie," she smirked at him teasingly.

"Ah, we'll see about that…" he replied, looking down at the keys in his hand and smiling over at her. "How about we go for a test drive?"

* * *

"Have I ever told you that your driving makes me nervous?" Amanda said, hands clutching at her seatbelt desperately as her husband took full advantage of the new car.

Michael just continued speeding through the winding roads of the hills and laughed. "Only about a million times…"

"Where are we even going?" she had to yell over the deafening wind roaring in her ears pouring in from the rolled down windows.

"You'll see," he replied with a devilish grin.

A few minutes and a couple of anti-anxiety pills later, he pulled up to one of the many spots overlooking the city. "Alright, come on," he said as he got out and sat on the hood of the car, patting the spot next to him. The cold breeze ruffled through her hair as she sat down next to him and took in the view.

The sky was a mixture of dark pinks and blues, only being interrupted by the bright outlines of the towering skyscrapers. The city was bursting with life beneath them, full of orange and blue light and the view of hundreds of cars making their way through the streets. For once, the loud noises of Los Santos were just distant hums in their ears as they stared at it in amazement.

"Wow…" she managed to breathe out, eyes still fixated on it.

"Nice, isn't it?" he smiled.

"It's beautiful," she murmured as she rested her head on his shoulder.

Michael shifted nervously next to her. "This is where I used to come when I was feeling particularly shitty about myself. Uh, I came here a lot and...fuck...I don't know how to say this…" he ran his hands down his face, sighing.

Amanda didn't say anything, just gently grabbed one of his hands and squeezed it in silent reassurance.

With his free hand, he lit up a cigarette and put it in his mouth, exhaling deeply. "I just…my whole life I've tried to chase these things that I thought would make me happy. I thought I'd be happy with a normal life, that didn't work out. I thought I'd be happy being back in the game, I wasn't. My whole life...chase things, get 'em, hate 'em…" he stared regretfully into the distance for a moment. "I never thought about anybody else. Never thought about the kids. Never thought about you…"

He took a long drag on the cigarette. "Every time I came up here, I wondered if I made the right choice back in North Yankton. I just can't help but think about what would have happened if you'd just stayed there and told me to fuck off…" he laughed under his breath. "Maybe I wouldn't have been drinking myself to death for the past five years, maybe you would have found a guy who deserved you...a good guy."

"Good guys are boring, Michael," Amanda finally said. "You'll marry one of them and then he'll buy you a nice house with a picket fence around it and come home everyday from his nine to five job. Maybe a couple of kids and a dog. And then, that's it. For the rest of your life, it's the same damn thing, every single day. I like where we ended up," she whispered.

"Me too, sweetheart," he said softly. "But I guess I just wanted to say I...I'm sorry for all of this. I brought everything that happened on myself and I dragged you down with me. I wish I wasn't like this...but I guess I'm just built like it. I'm, ah...I'm sorry for doing that to you..."

"It must have taken a lot for you to tell me this, huh?" she asked quietly, earning a tired nod from him. "I'm glad you did. I don't blame you for anything anymore, Michael, I really don't. I just want us to forget everything that happened these past few years. Maybe now we finally can."

With that, they lapsed into silence for a few minutes and looked up at the sky. The sun had long since set since they had started talking, but unlike in the light-polluted skies of the city, they could actually see the stars from their spot on the outskirts of town.

"It's been twenty two years…" she said softly, staring at all of the constellations. "Isn't that crazy? We got married on _this_ day all those years ago. I've spent over half my life being stuck with you now," she smirked playfully at him.

"Damn, way to make me feel old, babe," he chuckled self-deprecatingly. "But, uh, being stuck with me for all that time...was it worth it?"

Amanda bit her lip hesitantly and nervously tapped her fingers against the hood of the car. "I'm gonna be honest...a couple of years ago I would've said no."

"And what about now?" he whispered as he pulled her closer to him.

"Now? Yes. Yes, absolutely," she grinned at him before putting her hands on his shoulders and kissing him. The kiss was slow and gentle at first, almost chaste compared to their usual fierce ones. His lips moved against hers with a relief that was as if the weight of the world had suddenly been lifted from him.

When they parted for air, Michael rested his hands on her cheeks and stared into her eyes with a softness and passion that she hadn't seen in a long time. "I love you, Amanda..." he murmured, his breath warm against her lips.

"Michael…" she breathed out, lightly pressing kisses against his jaw. "I love you, too."

He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into his lap, impatiently tilting his face down to hers so that their lips met again. Michael began kissing her harder, hands roaming all along her body. Their tongues danced with their normal passion and intensity, but this kiss was different. This one didn't have horrible memories of the past few years behind it, instead filled with a renewed hope and love.

Amanda smiled against the kiss and buried her hands into his hair, rolling her hips over his. Michael had to press his lips against her neck to stifle the brief moan that escaped from him. He inhaled the scent of her perfume and couldn't help but lightly bite down on the soft skin of her neck to taste her. She just moaned in response and rolled her hips over his for a second time, earning a muffled swear from him. "Fuck me, Michael," she whispered into his ear.

Michael pulled back, panting, and stared at the expectant look on her face. He shook his head. "Not yet."

"Why not?" she sulked, pressing impatient kisses to his cheeks and jaw.

"Because…" he couldn't quite get the words out between those wandering lips and how much he really did want to.

Noticing how distracting she was being, she stopped. "Michael?"

" _Because_ I've forgotten our last three anniversaries and I, ah, I wanted to make up for lost time by getting you somethin' for each year…" he managed to say. "The ring was the first thing, and coming up here was the second...so I have one more thing to show you."

"You know you didn't have to get me anything. I'm just glad that we're spending time together," Amanda admitted with a small smile.

"I know, but I think you'll like this," he squeezed her hand confidently. "Plus it makes me feel less shitty about myself."

"If it helps, I think you're doing a pretty good job so far," she reassured him.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he said softly before getting up from the hood of the car and offering her his hand. "We better get going."

He held the door open for her as she got back into the car. "So, what's your big surprise to end the night?" she asked with a smirk.

"Well, it wouldn't be a surprise then," Michael started the car back up with a devilish grin. "So...close your eyes."

* * *

"Alright, we're here," he finally said after another long, stressful drive.

"Very funny, using my own trick against me, you know…" she muttered sarcastically, eyes widening as soon as she opened them to an unfamiliar sight. Through the brightness of the streetlights, she recognized the beach houses that lined the long street. "What are we doing here?" she asked, voice slightly shaky in excitement.

"Well...you kept bugging me about how you wanted to buy one. Plus, now you might stop begging me to remodel the house…" he laughed, finding the new key on his keyring.

"I didn't think you'd actually go through with it…" she muttered in shock. "But, um, we can afford this now, right?"

"Let's just say we won't have to worry about money again…" he said vaguely. "Come on."

Michael unlocked the door and gently lead her inside. "Happy anniversary, darling."

Her jaw fell open at the sight in front of her. The house was dimly lit by the candles flickering on the tables and the song they had their first dance to at their wedding was playing softly in the background.

"Well?" he asked nervously.

Amanda didn't say anything, just turned around and kissed him. "It's amazing. Totally unnecessary," she stressed, even though her tone of voice suggested otherwise, "but amazing. Thank you, Michael."

"There is one way you can thank me…" he said suggestively, a mischievous look in his blue eyes .

"Oh, yeah?" she asked, a seductive grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. "And what is that?"

He just turned around and started the song over before sheepishly offering her his hand. "Dance with me?"

"Of course."

Michael held her against his chest and slowly moved along with her. For such a big and intimidating guy, he danced with such a smoothness and gentleness that she could never expect from him.

She smiled at the irony. "You've gotten better at this since our wedding."

"Ah, well, I've had some practice," he chuckled.

Amanda sighed in contentment as they continued dancing and looked around the beach house. Everything looked new, from the decorations to the fresh coat of paint on the walls.

"Did you do all of this?" she asked in awe.

"The place was kind of a shithole when I bought it," he admitted. "I hired a decorator because I don't have a fuckin' clue about that kinda stuff, but the other things...yeah, I did those."

"I love it," she told him, earning a relieved smile from him.

As the song ended, Michael looked down at her longingly and kissed her on the forehead. "I wish I could've done all of this sooner…" he said regretfully.

"You are now and that's what matters," she reminded him before a smirk crossed her face. "Tell me something…"

"Anything," he murmured.

She grabbed the collar of his jacket and pulled him down to her height. "Is the bedroom finished?" she whispered in his ear.

"Oh, that was the first thing I had done," Michael grinned as he promptly picked her up, earning a giggle from her, and pulled her into a deep kiss. He hastily carried her over to the bedroom, only stopping when her back met the door.

She could barely get the door open between his lips impatiently kissing the side of her neck and the shakiness of her hands. When she finally opened it, he let out an audible sigh of relief and hungrily moved his lips back to hers.

By the time they reached the bed, she had already unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside while he made quick work of her dress, almost ripping it in his hurry to undress her.

Amanda pulled away only long enough to glare at him. "That's expensive-" she started to protest before he cut her off with a gentle kiss.

"We can always buy another one," he said dismissively before leaning back down and pressing kisses to her neck, earning a soft moan from her.

She quickly reached up and undid his belt before starting to work his pants off of his hips. It took longer than it should've, with him distracting her with those wandering lips and the way that he bucked against her hips.

When she finally did, she fumbled with the opening of his boxers and before she knew it, one of her hands was clutching at the bedsheets while the other tugged at his hair and she was whispering in his ear to encourage him. _Harder. Faster. I love you. Don't stop._

He took it in stride, following her directions with a smile until her words became nothing but moans. After that, he just kept kissing her, on her lips, her neck, anywhere he could. He soon started to draw it out, teased her like he always did.

"Michael…" she pleaded.

"What's the magic word?" he asked, panting, a cocky grin plastered onto his face.

" _Please._ "

Blue eyes brightened in victory. "Since you asked so nicely…come for me, baby."

That was all it took for her. A couple seconds later, he collapsed next to her on the bed and pulled her into his arms. She shook under his touch and caught her breath as Michael ran his hand through her damp hair. "Happy anniversary, darlin'," he murmured breathlessly.

Amanda smiled up at him tiredly and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Best anniversary ever."


	27. Hatred

_Once again, so sorry it's been so long since an update! Things have been super busy and I'm finally getting more time to work on this fic. Last update was a very fluffy one, so of course this chapter balances it out with some angst, starting with one of the various arguments our favorite couple has at the start of the game… (fair warning: this chapter is quite a bit dirtier than the other ones)_

* * *

"You bastard." Amanda shoved him away from her and tried to push her way past him but he stopped her before she could go upstairs.

Michael frowned at her, more out of confusion than anything. "I don't get why you're so pissed at me."

She scoffed. "Don't act so fucking innocent. You think I don't look at our bank statements? That I don't see all of those charges to those strip clubs and hotels?"

"I'm sorry, _our_ bank statements?" he asked harshly.

"Yeah, _our_ bank statements, you selfish shit! Oh, sorry, I must've forgot that you're so protective of your blood money!" she yelled, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

"Well, I didn't know that _you_ had started earning money! I do gotta say, though, stripping is a young girls game…" he smirked at her cruelly.

"Fuck you, Michael! So is bank robbery! And stop trying to change the subject."

He started getting angry himself. "Shouldn't you be glad that I'm keeping it out of the house? That I don't bang them in our bed like you do? Or are you the only one who's allowed to fuck other people?"

"We both know that I was faithful to you until I found you in a stripper," she snapped.

"It was a nice fucking vacation from you yelling at me! Please, forgive me for when I needed break from all of your complaining!" he said sarcastically.

" _Complaining_?! Are you talking about all of those times where I told you 'Michael, please stop drinking yourself to death'? Or maybe it was when I kept saying 'Michael, _please_ stop ignoring me and the kids'?" Michael just rolled his eyes as if he'd heard this a million times before, lengthening her rant. "Don't you roll your eyes at me, you ass. God...why did I marry you?"

"Because you were knocked up and I was naive?" he instantly shot back.

"At least we were happy! Now all of us are miserable because of _you!"_

"I don't get why the hell you're so unhappy! I gave you _everything_ , a big mansion in the hills, all of the money you could ask for, everything you want, and I don't even get a fucking 'thank you'-"

Before he could finish his sentence, Amanda slapped him, her fingers biting into his cheek. He took a step back in shock, rubbing at the stinging red handprint on his face. She almost looked sorry, but most of all, looked like she wanted to do it again. "I left everything behind in North Yankton to come here with you because all I've ever wanted was _you,_ you fucking asshole! Since that's apparently not enough for you: thank you, Michael, for ruining our lives!"

She reached up to try and hit him again, but he grabbed her, holding her wrist firmly in place. "You don't want to see what happens if you try that again," Michael warned her.

"You are _a lot_ of things, Michael, but you are not a wife beater," she hissed.

His grip on her tightened, fingers wrapping around her wrist so tightly that she could barely feel it. His steely blue eyes stared into hers, filled with hate, rage, and want. Suddenly, he released her hand. "You're right. I'm not," he said before he roughly grabbed her by the waist and kissed her. To both of their surprise, she didn't pull away and instead quickly slipped her tongue into his mouth.

Without breaking the kiss, Michael picked her up by the thighs and pinned her against the wall so hard that she knew she'd have bruises.

 _So, it's gonna be like this, huh?_ she mused at his aggressiveness, smirking before biting down on his lip, not stopping until she could taste his blood and feel his groan of pain against her mouth.

He finally broke the kiss, breathing heavily. He was a mess, from the strands of his hair falling into his face, to the pink parallel lines from where her manicured nails had dug into his face, to the small beads of blood glistening on his lips. But he still gave her that same _damn_ smile as he wiped away the blood.

"I fucking hate you," she said suddenly.

Michael just laughed as he started to put his hand down her pants. "No, you don't."

" _Yes_ , I _do-_ " she started to protest before a sharp gasp escaped her lips as his hand carelessly pushed her underwear aside and started to rub against her. Encouraged by the unspoken challenge, he started slipping a couple fingers inside of her.

" _No,_ you _don't_ ," he mocked smugly when he felt the wetness against his hand.

Amanda could only manage a half-hearted glare at him.

"No lie? That's fine…" he muttered, starting to press kisses against the side of her neck. His teeth grazed against her as he sucked at her skin, knowing full well he'd give her a hickey. "Try and hide that from your fuckin' boy toys…"

It happened the same way it always did. They argued more, he teased her some more, but before long he gripped her thighs harder and carried her up the stairs. They both thanked whatever God that was looking after them that they didn't run into the kids during their little trip.

They shoved their way into the bedroom, starting to rip off clothes and shoes- Michael's suit jacket, Amanda's expensive heels that had been digging into his skin the whole damn time- on their way to the bed.

Finally, he had her pinned down against the mattress, a triumphant grin on his face. She _should_ be mad, fucking furious that he was getting his way again. But all she could do was hook her fingers through the belt loops of his pants and pull him closer.

"Looks like you still want your 'pathetic' husband, huh?" he asked, cockiness radiating off of him as he quickly took off her shirt and pants. His fingers played with the straps of her bra, tugging them off her shoulders as he waited for her response.

"Fuck you, Michael," she spat out weakly. She unbuttoned his shirt with shaky hands and tossed it aside to where the rest of their clothes were.

"Oh, I know you want to," he laughed before he took off her underwear and put his head between her thighs. Amanda couldn't stop her moan when she felt his tongue against her skin, when she felt his fingers starting to pump inside of her. She raked her fingers through his hair, knowing how much he liked it. Sure enough, he picked up his pace just enough to get her to her climax. As she finished, she started gripping harder at his hair, tugging so roughly that it probably hurt him.

If it did, he didn't care. Michael just wiped his mouth and smirked at her as he waited for her to catch her breath. He had just started to unzip his pants when she had enough energy to slap at his hand.

"You're not having me that easily," she breathed out, reverting back to their playful back-and-forth.

"Oh, come _on_ , Mandy…" Michael growled impatiently.

"I'm still not your doll to play with when you get bored and to be ignored after. You need to _earn_ this. Show me that you're better than them, Michael. Show me, fuck me better than all of those other guys," she demanded, palming at his zipper to prove her point.

"Your wish is my command," he grinned down at her. For the first time in the day, he showed gentleness, using it only to push himself inside of her. He started rocking into her, smirking down at her when he heard her initial groan.

"Don't act so smug. We used to do this for hours when we were in our twenties…" she rolled her eyes indifferently, but the small moan that slipped out betrayed her.

Michael started going faster when she pulled him down to her and started dragging her mouth against his jawline and the rough stubble there. Amanda started whispering in his ear, about how her tennis coach could do it better, that he still wasn't deserving of her.

"How about now?" he grunted, not backing down.

"Better, but you still need to earn it. And how am I?" Amanda looked up at him through fluttered lashes, already knowing the answer.

"Still the goddamn best," he groaned.

"Good boy," she said, finding it harder to keep her voice steady as he started to bring her closer to the edge.

Michael, watchful as always, picked up on this, and started going with an even greater force. She was close, so close, and tried to make a snarky remark about it, something that would make him even more determined, but all that came out was a strangled, animalistic kind of gasp as she lost herself.

Through the sound of her moans filling the room, she didn't even notice Michael finish until he collapsed next to her, panting. "Fuckin' A…" he breathed out.

She pressed herself against him, humming in satisfaction. For the next few moments, it was silent, devoid of any arguing or fighting. In those few moments, they thought about the things that they were both too damn stubborn to say.

Like how she really didn't hate him, how she thought he was better than all of the other guys combined. Like how he wanted to say sorry, how he didn't enjoy any moment he'd had with that stripper, or any other girl, in fact. And how they wanted things to go back to normal, and that they wanted to fall in love again…

And how they'd fight again and end up right back where they were. Amanda scoffed, pushing the ridiculous dream aside, ignoring the gentle way that he held her, ignoring the way she felt safe in his arms and only looking up when he weakly smiled and said, "Still hate me?"

"Fuck off."

"I'll take that as a yes."


	28. Relationship Advice

_Sorry it's been so long since an upload! I am finally back though and have a few new chapters for this story (plus a new multichapter that should be starting within the next few weeks ;) Before I give too much away about that: this chapter has some relationship advice leading to a little something more..._

* * *

Franklin sighed as he pulled up to the De Santa house. _Well, the house of one of them, at least…_ he quickly corrected himself as he remembered that Michael's family had left him all alone a while ago. He knew that the man wasn't in a great state emotionally because of that and his kidnapping by the Chinese a few days earlier, so he'd asked him to hang out for a bit. At this point, he didn't really trust Michael to be alone. Then there were still Michael's issues with Trevor. He didn't know what Michael did, but he figured it had to do with the whole Brad situation that still hadn't been explained to him.

"Maybe I can ask him if he knows about my money from punk ass Devin Weston…" he muttered angrily under his breath. He sent a quick text to Michael to let him know he was outside. About a minute later, Michael exited his house, looking exhausted as usual. Franklin immediately knew that the topic of money wasn't going to be discussed by the look on his face.

"Hey, kid," Michael said, getting into the car.

"How you doin'?" Franklin asked concernedly.

"I'm okay. Everything's been healing since the, uh, incident." Michael looked at himself in the rearview mirror, gazing at the cuts and bruises on his face.

"I mean you, mentally," Franklin elaborated.

The older thief sighed. "Don't get married," Michael immediately replied, his voice halfway between bitterness and sadness.

"Well, that's still some ways down the road for me," Franklin said with a chuckle.

"Good. Just…never get married too young, like I did. When I got married, I was even younger than you. I mean, I met Amanda in a str-" Michael hesitated for a moment before continuing. "A bar. She was smoking hot and she liked me, of all guys. I mean, I really don't blame her because I was _quite_ the stud back in the day, but now that's all I feel our relationship was. Our physical chemistry."

"Damn, this is depressing ass shit…" the young thief muttered, starting to drive towards the nearest bar.

"The point is, Franklin," Michael continued despite the interruption, "that the foundation of a relationship can't just be built on your attraction to each other. I made this arrangement with the FIB when we came to Los Santos, so we pretty much had no choice but to stay together. And now look at us," he said resentfully. "She can't stand me, my kids don't respect me...and now they've been gone for months."

"I know that I don't know everything about your relationship, dog, but I _do_ think there's more than that to your relationship with her. Otherwise, you guys would have killed each other years ago and besides, she's stayed with your crazy ass through all the years," Franklin laughed a little which earned a glare from Michael. "Do you still love her?"

"Well, yeah, of course I do-" Michael hastily started before getting interrupted by his prodigy.

"And when's the last time you told her that?" Franklin pressed the question.

"Shit, I don't know," Michael confessed, putting his head in his hands. "...I don't show it well, none of us do, but there's more than that…it's complicated and…" he trailed off as he wondered where he went so wrong in his life.

"Man, you're one of the smartest people I know, but sometimes you just can't take a hint," Franklin sighed. "Why do you think she had the affairs?"

"Because she hates me?" Michael raised his head, laughing dryly.

"Well, maybe a little, but sometimes you forget you _did_ cheat first," Franklin reminded him, pulling into the parking lot of the bar.

"Yeah, yeah…can we just go inside and get drunk? I don't want to think about my mistakes tonight. I do enough of that shit on my own," Michael said, shutting his eyes and looking regretful.

"Anyways, I know that doesn't make it right but maybe she wanted you to pay attention to her instead of feelin' sorry for yourself," Franklin suggested with a shrug. "From what I saw, you weren't doing the best job at that yourself."

"Shit, kid, you should be mentoring _me_ , you're better than my worthless therapist," Michael remarked, surprised by Franklin's wisdom. "I...I know you're right. Things were alright before I screwed that stripper," he admitted. "I just think that...that it's just too late for us, that our relationship is too...broken now."

"There's only one way to find out, right?" Franklin asked.

"Yeah..." Michael said distractedly, looking at his wedding ring, which he hadn't been able to bring himself to take off since she'd left. "Actually, can you drop me off at home? I think I have some work to do."

Franklin smiled, starting up the car again. "I think you do too."

* * *

"Thanks, kid. For...everything," Michael said when Franklin dropped him back off at his house.

"No problem, if it means you won't be so damn depressed all the time. Hope it works out for you, man," Franklin chuckled, driving off

"Me too…" Michael muttered under his breath, pulling his phone out of his pocket, and sitting on the steps. No, Amanda probably wouldn't answer... she hadn't answered any of his other calls so far. He just hoped that she'd listen to this message.

As Michael expected, it went to voicemail. He cleared his throat awkwardly, preparing himself for whatever dumb shit he'd no doubt say.

"Hey Amanda...it's me, your husband…" he started, almost laughing at the last part of the sentence. "I really hope that you get this... I know you probably hate me, I really wouldn't blame you if you did," he said with a bitter laugh. "Look, I..ah, I know I'm an asshole and that you deserve way better than me, but...I just want you to give me one last chance to show you that I'm changing, that this _whole_ time you've been away, I've been hating myself because of the way I treated you," his voice grew soft, regretful at that. "I never wanted you to leave, I can't even say how much I miss you, the kids. No matter how much I don't act like it, I love you, I always have. Ugh, I guess I just wanted to say...I...I'm sorry," he finally managed to stutter out just before the machine cut him off and he hesitantly pressed send.

"Time to wait," Michael sighed as he got up and went back into his empty house.

* * *

A week went by and Michael still hadn't heard anything from Amanda. He began to think that she either ignored his voicemail like all the other ones or she did hear it and just didn't have any hope for their relationship. Both options were bad, he thought. But if the second option was true, he knew it would just destroy him, living with the guilt and self-hatred that he'd experienced every moment since his family had been gone, except knowing that the feeling would be permanent.

"You're overthinking this, you old fucker," he muttered to himself, getting up from the couch to get some whiskey, ignoring the pain of his healing injuries. Michael made it about halfway to the kitchen before he heard the doorbell ring. He wondered if it was one of his many enemies here to finally finish the job. On his way to the door, a list of them ran through his mind. Merryweather, the FIB, the IAA, the Chinese, hell, even Trevor…

Michael opened the door not to a firing squad but the last person he expected. Amanda. His wife...the girl he fell in love with years ago...the girl he was _still_ in love with. A million things he wanted to say rushed through his head but he didn't have time to even open his mouth before Amanda wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

"I'm sorry, too," she said quietly when they pulled away. After seeing the confusion on Michael's face, she cracked a sad smile. "I listened to all of your messages, you know."

"So, do you believe me? That I'm changing this time?" Michael asked, his heart starting to thud from her touch.

"I do," Amanda said, pulling him in for another kiss.

She jumped into his arms as she kissed him. He stumbled back in shock before lifting her up, barely sparing enough time to shut the door behind him before his hands flew back to her legs, which were wrapped around his waist. Her touch grounded him, allowing himself to forget the past, all of their problems for just a minute, only focusing on the way her lips pressed against his, the way her hands threaded through his hair.

Amanda broke the kiss first, sending him crashing back to reality and feeling the tension of their relationship weighing him down again. At least, he was until he noticed the way her blue eyes wandered purposely up the stairs, no doubt to where their bedroom was. That was all he needed. Michael felt a smirk work its way across his face, lips finding the side of her neck as he carried her up the stairs. She tilted her head in response, allowing his kisses to travel along the expanse of her neck while whispering about how much she missed him in his ear.

By the time he finally reached their bedroom, he almost couldn't take the sensations overwhelming him. A nip at her neck caused a sharp moan that had almost sent him over the edge. The force he opened the door with could have broken it if he hadn't been more careful. His lips immediately moved back up to hers in a hurried frenzy, a shiver running through him as her teeth bit down on his lip, the pleasure barely outweighing the pain. He eased her onto the bed, hands roaming along her body as she straddled him, her fingers already starting to unbutton his shirt. A sharp wince suddenly crossed his face as her weight settled against his. "God damn it..." he hissed as he pulled back from the kiss.

A puzzled look crossed Amanda's face. "What's wrong…?" she started, trailing off as she noticed the fading bruises on his face for the first time. Her hand slid under his shirt, feeling him tense up as she touched the hot bruises on his skin. As if to confirm her suspicions, she finished undoing the buttons, eyes wide in horror as she saw the half-healed marks that still covered his ribcage, the stab wounds that lined his chest and sides. Her expression was something between anger and sadness. "I need you to tell me how this happened," she demanded shakily, fingers resting lightly against a cut on his chest.

"It was just a fight," Michael effortlessly muttered the lie under his breath, not really having the energy or really even wanting to explain the torture he'd been through over a week ago. The look on her face told him she didn't believe him for a second. "I'll be fine, Amanda."

"You think that _this_ is fine?" she asked angrily, the worry and concern in her eyes evident. "God, Michael…"

"I've been through worse. It's nothing that won't heal," he insisted in a low voice.

She muttered something inaudible under her breath, though he did catch the words, "Stupid, stubborn bastard,"before she pulled him into a kiss, one hand going up the back of his neck, the other raking through his hair. He melted into the kiss, hands resting at her sides before impatiently tugging at her shirt. A crooked smirk crossed her face as she broke the kiss to lift it over her head. She shoved him back onto the bed playfully, her smile fading as she heard his sharp intake of breath turn into a pained groan.

"Fuck…" she sighed as she sat up abruptly. Grimacing, he leaned up against the headboard, eyes staring helplessly into hers as she ran her hands through her hair in frustration. "It shouldn't have been like this…it shouldn't have taken us a near divorce and you almost dying to get back together," she whispered, tears forming in her eyes.

He leaned forward, lips gently brushing against hers. "I know, darlin'..." he murmured, his thumb wiping away the tears. "God, I know…" Sighing, Michael pressed a light kiss against her forehead. She tilted her head up, allowing him access to her lips. They kissed slowly and carefully, as if the slightest movement would cause him more pain. "Things will be different this time," he said when they pulled apart for air.

"That's gonna take a while, isn't it?" she smiled sadly, resting her hands on his shoulders and biting her lip as her fingers accidently ran over a wound on his back.

"Never said it'd be easy," he replied with a smirk of his own as he pulled her down for a kiss. In all of the ways he'd expected the day they reunited to go, he never thought they'd be going this slow. Then again, he hadn't expected he'd be recovering from almost being beaten to death. He thought he'd feel like the young idiot he was when he met her, drowning in lust and desire. They hadn't been together in _so long_ and he thought he would have taken full advantage of that, instead of uselessly lying there in pain.

Slowly, the kisses got more intense. Hands started to wander, lips started to wander. Eventually, much to his dismay, she pulled away, panting, and sat up.

Michael frowned and looked up at her. "What are you doing?"

"Believe it or not, I can't take these off while I'm sitting on top of you," Amanda said teasingly as she slowly took her pants off.

His eyebrows immediately shot up as she tossed them aside to the floor, revealing the lacy red underwear she was wearing. "Present for me?" he asked, obviously trying to lighten the mood as his fingers toyed with the straps of the matching bra, slight shakiness of his hand betraying his confident voice.

" _Maaaybe_ …" she drawled out in a singsong voice, going along with his lightheartedness. "If you're still up to it, of course."

"I'm sore, 'Mand, not paralyzed," he reminded her before undoing his belt, adding it to the ever-growing pile of clothes. Despite his protests, he allowed her to take off his own pants; partly because he didn't feel like disentangling from her, mostly because he knew it'd hurt and-stubborn as he was-didn't want to admit it to her.

"Well…" Amanda started, looking down at him with a predatory grin that only faltered when she caught sight of his injuries, "this is a role reversal, huh?"

"Very funny," he rolled his eyes, unwilling to indulge her power trip. "Y'know, if I was feelin' better, we'd be done by now."

"Ah, where's the fun in that?" she asked, leaning down and kissing him. Her facade of playful confidence dropped again, just for a second, as she kissed him sweetly and slowly. Michael quickly grabbed one of her hands, squeezing it in silent reassurance and encouragement. And just like that, it was back up. The gentle, chaste kisses quickly turned into heated, passionate ones as his hands moved up to rest on her hips while hers found themselves buried in his soft, dark hair.

She kissed him and he kissed her. It was so normal, so routine for them after all this time, but there was something different behind this kiss. It was a longing, desperate thing that they could only describe as both of them asking, no, _begging_ for forgiveness from each other.

They kissed like that for ages seemingly, only stopping for brief moments when he needed to catch his breath. "I missed you so much," he breathed out during one of those times.

"I missed you, too," she replied with a smile, breath warm against the lips that were only centimeters away from hers.

With that, he finally had enough energy, or maybe enough confidence, to hesitantly move his hands up to her underwear. She just nodded and took his hands in hers, leading him to tug them off her legs. Once that was finished, her fingers moved down to the opening of his boxers before he bit his lip slightly and said, "Hey, uh, just go easy on me, okay?"

Amanda lightly pressed a kiss against his lips, positioning herself on top of him and whispering "I'll make you feel better, Michael."

All of their doubts, worries, and insecurities quickly faded away as they fell into their familiar rhythm that they'd perfected throughout the years, even though it was a little slower and more languid this time. Michael's hands traveled across her body, as if he couldn't decide on _where_ to touch her and he groaned, muffled by her mouth still pressing kisses against his, as her hips swirled against his.

Her lips lazily moved off of his mouth and she pressed delicate kisses against the fading bruises on his face, making him feel like the injuries weren't even there anymore. One of her hands twisted into the bedsheets, the other stroking his cheek as they continued their leisurely pace.

After a while, she began growing impatient. She could tell that he was already feeling better, by the way he started to set the pace: not quite enough to send her over, but just enough to keep her on the edge. " _Michael_ …" she moaned accusatorily. "I'm glad that we're here together and that you're feeling better, but- _ah_ …"

"But what?" he looked up at her with a grin, voice innocent aside from the slight shakiness of it.

" _But_ this part of you hasn't changed and you are still the same damn tease…" she managed to get out, finding it increasingly harder to keep her voice steady, or even speak at all.

"Hey, I said I'd change all the _bad_ things about me, babe," he said playfully, ignoring the small moan that slipped out of his own mouth as she leaned forward, taking all of him in. "And you know what to say."

She glared at him for a second, but it soon became too much to bear. " _Please_ , Michael."

It worked, just as it always did, and before long, they had both finished and she had collapsed next to him on the bed. Both of them had to take a long moment to catch their breath before she turned over to face him.

Amanda stared at him through half-lidded lashes with a tired, content smile before suddenly moving closer to him and kissing him lightly. "Me and the kids are coming home first thing tomorrow. After today, I know we can still make this work, Michael," she whispered, one of her hands reaching over and grabbing his.

For the first time in months, a genuine smile crossed his face. "Ah, thank God…I've missed you guys so much," Michael murmured in relief. "So, what do we do now?"

Her eyes moved between the injuries on his body and the mess that they had made, a slight frown on her face. "Now I think we should shower. You'll feel a lot better after you do," she added the second part after he started to protest.

"Alright, just, ah, give me a second," he said before moving closer to her and pressing his damp forehead against hers, letting out a sigh of happiness.

"What are you doing?" she asked, amusement creeping into her voice.

"Jus' wanna take it all in and make sure this day isn't some dream," he breathed out.

She quickly gave him another kiss before he could say anything else. It was short, but the intensity and passion of it was still undeniable. "Does that convince you?"

"Oh, yeah," he smirked, staring back at her for a long moment and admiring everything about her: the way her hair was still all messy, the way her eyes looked back into his with a love he hadn't seen in a long time. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "Hey...I, ah... I love you."

She tightened her grip on his hand, one of her fingers sweeping back and forth across his wedding ring as she said, "I love you, too."


	29. Nightmare Before Christmas

_Merry (belated) Christmas! Finally, the Christmas chapter is done, albeit a little late. In this one, Michael and Amanda have their first Christmas together and talk about their terrible holidays in the past. (Trigger warning for past child abuse)_

* * *

 _North Yankton, December 24th, 1990_

* * *

 _Merry fuckin' Christmas…_

Michael would have laughed at the thought if it wasn't for the beer bottle around his mouth. He was alone, as always, with only the alcohol in his hand and the shitty old Christmas movies playing on his TV to keep him company. He'd never really celebrated it when he was a kid; partly because he was too poor, partly because his father had always found some way to ruin it.

He shook his head, taking another drink and looking around his trailer. The only decorations he had were the ones that Amanda had practically forced him to put up a few days ago. She had taken one look around at his dim, dull place, and then at the rest of his trailer park, which was lit up brightly with holiday decor. _"God, this is depressing, babe…"_ she'd told him. After much arguing and his insistence that he really didn't care about Christmas, she'd returned the next day with bundles of Christmas lights in her arms and a grin on her face.

A small smile tugged at his lips at the image, still fresh in his mind. They'd only been dating for about a month, but he already felt comfortable with her in a way he never had with anyone else.

But she was gone, off having fun with her family, and he was here. _So it goes,_ he sighed in frustration and lit up a cigarette, lips frowning against it. He was getting tired of it. Tired of being a miserable fuck, tired of being alone.

Before he knew it, he was leaning back into the chair, cigarette still in hand, and was drifting off to sleep with those depressing thoughts in his mind.

* * *

" _Merry Christmas, Michael," his father told him gruffly, awkwardly gesturing to the one present under their small tree._

 _Michael almost couldn't believe his eyes. His father, the imposing, feared Mr. Townley, was sober for once. Michael could only smell the faintest hint of beer on him as he stared at him almost in awe. He'd even shaved, too! Still, he tried not to get his hopes up too hard, knowing that this kind of thing had happened before and nothing changed. He was nearly 17 now and didn't quite believe in Christmas miracles._

 _He hesitantly walked towards the tree and sat down next to the poorly wrapped present (obvious handiwork of his father), shaking it hesitantly and feeling something bounce around inside the box. Despite his earlier thoughts, excitement slowly started to grow in him. Maybe it was that new football he'd kept asking for, Michael thought almost giddily. In his distraction, he didn't notice his dad starting to drink in the background or the impatient look on his face._

" _Quit playing with the damn thing, boy, and open it," his father snapped after a minute, his fingers in a death grip around his beer bottle, his growl making the younger boy jump in surprise._

 _After that, Michael quickly unwrapped it, tearing open the wrapping paper and the box to reveal a brand-new...basketball. He looked down at it, trying to not look too confused about it. He_ hated _playing basketball and had always made a point of how much he didn't like it to his father, who apparently hadn't listened._

 _He seemed to do a pretty good job at hiding his confusion. "You like it? Almost had to fight some shithead at the store for it. Told 'em to fuck off, that's for my boy," Mr. Townley proudly boasted._

" _Yes, sir-" Michael started._

" _Thought you and your friends could play together after school sometime."_

" _Yes, sir, but-" he barely managed to get out before he got snapped at._

" _But what?" That familiar anger had started to seep into his voice and he had moved onto his third beer by now._

" _But, I, ah, I'm on the football team...and I don't really play basketball all that much…" Michael stuttered in a panic. His mother was out today, the only one who could calm his father's temper, and he knew that he needed to take his next steps very carefully._

" _Hm, I see."_

" _Y-you do?" Michael asked shakily._

" _Yeah," his dad slowly stood up, eyes glazed with drunkenness and rage. "I see that you think you're better than this family because you're the quarterback of some white-trash football team from a town nobody's ever even heard of."_

" _No, that's not it-"_

 _The familiar sound of the belt being wrapped around his father's knuckles soon came. "On your knees, boy."_

 _Ordinarily, Michael would have already silently obliged. But not today. "No." He stood up and turned around to face him, eyes staring coldly into his father's, which were devoid of any emotion besides hatred._

 _His father slapped him, making him reel back in shock a little. "On. Your. Knees. I ain't gonna say it again."_

 _Still, Michael stood there, despite feeling tears of pain starting to sting at the edges of his eyes. "Dad, I am your son," he pleaded, voice shaky and almost begging._

" _No," he shook his head. "No son of mine would be such an ungrateful, pathetic piece of shit. No son of mine would think he's better than me just because he has some scholarships to some fancy colleges!"_

 _With that, Michael finally snapped, his hand rearing back to hit the man who saw him as nothing more than his personal punching bag. His attempt was quickly cut short by his father grabbing his fist with ease; his other hand dropping the belt and wrapping around his throat, pinning Michael against the wall with ease._

" _You are so goddamn weak! I thought football players were supposed to be tough…?" Mr. Townley said of his son's feeble struggles to pry his hand away from his throat. "They will fuckin' eat you in the real world, they will destroy you. And you can't do a damn thing about it because you can't fight for shit and you can't provide for your family to save your life. Well...at least I can show you how to take it like a man."_

 _Just as his vision had started to fade around the edges, the hand was taken from Michael's throat. The brief moment of relief Michael had was quickly cut short when he was roughly grabbed and thrown down to the floor, the loud crunch of bone snapping sounding out when he landed on his right arm._

" _Good luck throwing with that arm," his father chuckled as he stared down at Michael, who was somewhere between gasping for air and crying out in pain. "Bye-bye, football."_

* * *

The knocking at his door pulled him from his nightmare, making him spring awake in shock and fear before he realized that it'd just been a dream. The sound of his girlfriend's voice behind the door was the thing that finally brought him back to reality. "Michael…?" Amanda called out softly as she knocked at the door again before her voice grew slightly impatient. "Michael, I know you're in there…"

"Uh, yeah...door's open, babe," Michael finally managed to yell, too shaken to get up himself.

"Merry Christmas, darling," she said in a singsong voice as she entered his trailer. A small smile crossed his face when he caught sight of her. She was in an oversized Christmas sweater which hung off of her like a tent and was wearing a Santa hat that only made her look cuter. The goofy grin that she had on her face quickly faded when she saw him. "Has anyone told you to not fall asleep with a lit cigarette?" she asked teasingly.

Michael quickly looked down to the cigarette in his hand, which had almost burnt down to his fingers at this point, and quickly stamped it out. "Ah, merry Christmas, Mandy…" he stuttered out nervously.

She looked over him, at his deathly pale, flustered face and the cold sweat forming on his forehead, causing a concerned frown to form on her face. "Babe, are you okay?"

"Um, yeah, I'm fine," he lied. "Not that I'm not glad to see you, but aren't you supposed to be with your family?" Michael asked, hastily trying to change the subject.

Amanda shrugged. "They can wait. Besides, I didn't want you to be all alone on Christmas."

"Ah, don't you worry about me. I wasn't _completely_ alone. Trevor stopped by earlier," he said as he smirked at her teasingly.

"Good thing I missed that. Did he give you a lot of presents?" she asked sarcastically, her dislike of the psychopath clear.

"Surprisingly, no," Michael laughed. "He told me that his friendship is the best present I could ever have and then tried to get me to rob some of the shops in town with him."

Amanda sat next to him on the couch and snuggled up against him. "I'm surprised you said no."

"Eh, I decided to wallow in my self-pity at home, where it's warm," he said with a small shrug.

"And that is _exactly_ why I'm here, darling," she said cheerfully as she took his face in her hands and pressed a light kiss to his lips before pulling away and placing that _stupid fuckin'_ Santa hat onto his head. "You seemed pretty upset the other day, so I thought I'd come cheer you up."

He glanced up to that ridiculous hat on his head and the grin on her face and allowed himself a weak smile. "Thanks, sweetheart, but...I, ah, I dunno...I just associate Christmas with such shittiness at this point, y'know?" he admitted, putting his head in his hands. "Never really did anything for it when I was a kid. Half the time we were too poor, the other half I was lucky if my dad was sober." _Fuckin' ghost of Christmas past_ , he thought bitterly.

Amanda sighed next to him and wrapped her arms around him, her warmth enveloping him and making him feel just a little bit better. "Me too. You basically just described my entire childhood," she said bitterly.

He pressed himself closer to her and glanced up into the sadness in her eyes, knowing that was probably how he looked, too. "You had your sisters, though, right?" he mumbled.

"Yeah, sure…" she muttered. "...but my parents didn't exactly sugarcoat why Santa didn't come for us every year, though."

Michael reached up and gripped her hand reassuringly. "I know just how you feel…" he sighed. "I just...I feel like it's too late for me to start liking it now. Like there's too many shitty memories," he said, a small shiver running through him at the last part of the sentence.

She nodded. "Maybe…" she trailed off before a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "That doesn't that we can't try to have some fun, though. You and I weren't raised on fairytales, Michael. It's shitty, but that's the way it's always gonna be. All we can do is try to make new memories."

With that, she gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek before getting up and walking over to his radio and turning it on. The low hums of a Christmas song soon started as she turned around to face him, holding out her hand expectantly. "Come dance with me, Townley."

He reluctantly got up and took her hand as he started dancing with her, slowly moving along with her. "Ah, I'm not that great at this kinda stuff, Mandy…" he said of his stiff, lumbering movements.

Amanda rested her head on his chest with an amused look in her eyes. "That's okay…" she said soothingly.

They soon fell into a rhythm, an awkward one, but one nonetheless, and lapsed into peaceful silence as the lyrics of the song started.

 _Oh, the weather outside is frightful  
But the fire is so delightful  
And since we've no place to go  
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow_

 _It doesn't show signs of stopping_  
 _And I brought some corn for popping_  
 _The lights are turned down low_  
 _Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow_

 _When we finally kiss goodnight_  
 _How I'll hate to go out in the storm_  
 _But if you really hold me tight_  
 _All the way home I'll be warm_

 _The fire is slowly dying_  
 _And my dear, we're still goodbying_  
 _But as long as you love me so_  
 _Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow_

By the time the song ended, he had gotten significantly better at it, and had danced with her with such a gentleness that she never knew he had. "There you go!" Amanda happily exclaimed. "You just needed some practice."

"I guess I did…" he chuckled, keeping his hands on her waist long after the song ended. "This is...ah, this is nice."

"Yeah, it really is," she said, hands rested on his shoulders. Her eyes wandered over to the clock, sighing when she caught sight of the time. "I should be going soon…"

"Wait, uh, before you go…" he quickly ran into his bedroom and came back, present in hand. "Merry Christmas."

"You know you didn't have to get me anything," she told him, but a smile still crossed her face at the small box he'd pressed into her hand. She looked down at it, at his awful wrapping job and giggled slightly.

"Don't judge me…" he muttered sheepishly.

"Oh, not at all, darling…" she smirked as she opened it, revealing the small jewelry box from her favorite store. She tried to not meet his excited gaze as she opened it up, revealing the earrings inside of them. "Michael, these are gorgeous, but _way_ too expensive-"

"You like them though, right?" he asked nervously. "You always looked at them every time we went into the store…"

She bit her lip hesitantly, torn between being excited for them and being concerned for him. "I do...I love them, but I know how much they must have cost you. Don't you have more important things to spend your money on than me?"

"Honey, _you_ are the most important thing in my life right now," he said, earning a blush from her. "Besides, a couple extra jobs won't hurt me."

"...Fine, you hopeless romantic," Amanda finally conceded and put the earrings on.

Michael smiled at her as he tucked a lock of hair behind her hair. He ran his fingers along one of the earrings, saying "You look beautiful."

"Thanks, darling," she said before giving him a light kiss to the lips. "I, um, I forgot your present at home...but I have something to show you."

"Oh, yeah?" he grinned at her devilishly. "And what is that?"

"Well…" she drawled out before grabbing his hand and tugging him along to his bedroom door. "Look up."

He did, revealing the mistletoe hanging above his door. "Did you put that up while I wasn't looking?" he asked with a teasing frown.

"Maybe…" she said mysteriously. "I guess we have to kiss now."

"I guess we do." He happily obliged, pulling her down into a deep kiss. They smiled against the kiss, both of them determined to not become like their parents, to forget the bad memories that they grew up with, to make new ones together.

The kiss quickly escalated into something more as her fingers ran through his hair, knocking the Santa hat to the floor. She quickly jumped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist, making him stumble back in shock. He recovered quickly enough, barely not managing to fall over or drop her, and started carrying her into the bedroom.

He set her down on the bed hastily, their tongues still practically down each other's throats. She only pulled away to quickly take off his shirt, carelessly tossing it aside. He had just started tugging at the bottom of her sweater before she put her hands on his chest. "Wait," Amanda gasped out. "Let me."

Michael raised his eyebrows at that, but allowed her to move on top of him. Slowly, as if she was performing for him at the club, she took her shirt off, revealing the red and white lingerie beneath. His breath hitched at the sight and his hands instinctively moved up to grip her hips, but her hands grabbed his and placed them firmly down on the mattress before he could. "But, babe, I wanna unwrap my present," he pouted in protest.

"Well, you can wait a minute," she said as she shoved him back onto the bed playfully. She started to strip for him even more slowly, much to his dismay, her eyes staring deeply into his with lust and admiration.

By the time that she was in nothing but her underwear, he almost couldn't take it anymore. He effortlessly flipped on top of her and started kissing her neck, earning a sharp gasp from her. "Someone's excited…" she breathed out.

He didn't respond, just kept kissing at her neck hungrily. One of his hands buried into her hair, the other swiftly tugging her underwear off. For a moment, he pulled back, panting, and stared down at her appreciatively and lovingly, earning a blush from her.

Amanda, impatient as she was, hooked her fingers through the belt loops of his jeans and pulled him closer. She started working them off of him, the task only prolonged by his mouth finding her neck again and his hips moving against hers.

Finally, mercifully, she had tossed them aside and was struggling with the opening of his boxers. Before long, they fell into their familiar rhythm, one that they had far more practice with than dancing. He kept kissing at her neck, her lips, anywhere he could find while her hands buried into his hair as she pulled him down to her and whispered directions and sweet nothings into her ear. He took the encouragement in stride, following her instructions until they became nothing more than incoherent moans.

For once, maybe out of generosity or his own Christmas spirit, he didn't try and draw it out like he usually did. Michael peppered her skin with kisses as she finished, her body still shaking with adrenaline even after he had finished and collapsed on the bed next to her. She pressed herself against him, humming in contentment as they both caught their breath.

He wrapped his arms around her and lightly pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'm, ah, I'm really glad you came over tonight…" he said softly, almost hesitantly.

Amanda smiled at him in satisfaction. "Glad I could cheer you up…" she murmured as she rested her head against his shoulder.

As they laid there in peaceful silence, Michael felt a sudden wave of happiness wash over him as he held his girlfriend close to him. One thought ran through his mind as he looked down at her lovingly: _Maybe Christmas isn't that bad..._


	30. Cuffs

_Sorry again that it's been so long since an update! The reason that it's been a while is that I posted a new Michael/Amanda fic a couple weeks ago (it already has two chapters if you want to check it out!). However, I'm trying to still update this one just as much! This chapter is based off of some dialogue that Michael says after he takes off Amanda's handcuffs in the side mission where she gets caught shoplifting ("Let me get the keys to those cuffs...You remember these don't you? From the old days, when you used to do the girl cop routine?") and it explores how they had some fun with it. As always, enjoy!_

* * *

"'Manda...I _neeed_ a ride," Michael managed to say around the heaviness of his tongue. He leaned heavily against the brick wall of the bar for support, the payphone cradled in between his ear and shoulder.

She laughed on the other end of the line. "Trevor got you too drunk again?"

"Yess…" he slurred dumbly, his short breaths turning into frost in the bitter night air. "Can you please come get me?"

"You're lucky I just got home. I'll be right there. You think you can stay out of trouble for five minutes?" Amanda asked teasingly.

"I...I think so. Thanks, Mandy…" he breathed out before weakly hanging up the phone and shutting his eyes, trying to push back the inevitable headache that he'd have.

As if on cue, Trevor sauntered up, high on God only knew what at this point of the night, and frowned at him. "Leavin' so early, M?"

Michael groaned and put his face in his hands. "It's fuckin' three in the morning, T...I woulda gone home earlier if Amanda hadn't just gotten off…"

"Ohh, I didn't know your girl was working tonight! We could've visited her!" Trevor grinned hungrily. "What do you think her routine was tonight? That snake thing again? Or maybe she was a sexy-"

His mocking guess was cut off when Amanda pulled up, causing both of the boys' jaws to drop. She was dressed as a cop tonight, the irony of which was not lost on his drunken mind. Her already short top was half unbuttoned with a faux police badge gleaming against her chest. A fake nightstick and pair of handcuffs dangled from the belt of the shorts that clung to her in all of the right places.

A strangled, involuntary whimper of longing came from Michael's lips at the sight. She just smiled flirtatiously at him, knowing exactly what he was thinking. "Hey, babe. Have fun tonight?"

Michael managed to shut his mouth before he started catching flies. "Uhm, yeah…" he stuttered before walking towards her car, with only a soft "Cya later, T" to the still stunned Trevor.

He sighed as soon as he got into the car, immediately resting his head against the cool glass of the window with a hum of contentment. Still, his eyes couldn't help but wander over to her, at that outfit. "That's new…" he muttered.

Amanda's eyes twinkled in the darkness of the car. "I was trying out a new routine. You like it?"

"Well, _yeah,_ " he said, as if the answer wasn't obvious enough. "Fuckin' ironic, but I like it."

"Maybe I'll show it off to you one night," she said vaguely, her gaze focused on the road ahead. "When you're up to it, of course."

"Hey, I'm up to it right now," he protested weakly, earning a small laugh from her.

She shook her head. "Oh, hon, no you aren't. Trust me."

"The hell is that supposed to mean…?" Michael asked, too wasted to try and figure out what she meant.

"You'll find out. Soon, darling," she promised with a devious grin.

"Fine." With a sigh of defeat, Michael went back to looking out of the window until she dropped him off at home.

* * *

A couple of nights later, Michael had completely forgotten about that conversation and was watching a movie while waiting for her to visit him after work. Midway through the movie and his second beer, the doorbell rang. He practically jumped out of his chair in his excitement to see her.

He opened the door hastily, happy to see her. "Amanda, hi-" he started, his greeting quickly cut short when he got a good look at her.

She was wearing that same damn outfit. Confidence radiated from her, almost as strong as the scent of the perfume she wore, and just as intoxicating. Amanda leaned against the doorframe, looking up at him through thick, heavily made up eyelashes, and smiled at him with red lips. "You gonna let me in, Townley?"

He just wordlessly stepped aside, allowing her to step inside. "I gotta say, Mandy: if all the cops looked as good as you, my ass would've stayed in prison," he flirted, looking up and down at the short, tight police uniform.

"Aw, thanks, darling," she said with a playful smile. "So...I was thinking about the other day and I know how much you liked this outfit, and I got an idea of something we could do…"

"Something criminal?" he teased, playing with the handcuffs dangling from her waist.

"Criminally fun," she replied vaguely in a low voice.

He raised his eyebrows curiously. "Alright, babe, you have my interest. What is it?"

Her eyes wandered back down to the handcuffs. "Well…"

* * *

"Is this okay?" she said softly, her fingers lightly traveling over the sensitive skin of his wrists as she affixed the handcuffs to the bedpost. "The, um, tightness?"

Michael just nodded silently because he couldn't bring himself to speak between the way her gentle fingers were sending his feelings into overdrive and the humiliation that came with being tied shirtless to his own bed by his girlfriend. The cuffs pinched into his skin every time he moved, but he didn't care. If anything, he kind of liked it, as much as he hated to admit it.

"Good…" she murmured as she finished adjusting them. "You ready?"

Again, he nodded. "Yeah," he finally managed.

"Alright…" Amanda said before sitting up and positioning herself on top of his lap. Her face suddenly grew deadly serious as she leaned closer to him, looking at him through half-lidded eyes. "You've been a very bad boy, Mr. Townley," she drawled out in the same put-upon voice that she used at the club. "And now you're in trouble."

He just smirked up at her. It had been her idea to use the handcuffs; it had been his to go full-on cop vs. prisoner. "Oh, yeah?" he asked teasingly. "What kind?"

Her hands trailed down his chest and ran over his abs, causing him to struggle against the restraints a little bit at the contact. "The kind where you do and say whatever I tell you, whenever I tell you. Understood?"

"Yeah-" he started to get out before she tugged at his hand, causing the cuffs to dig deeper into his skin and his breath to hitch in slight pain.

"I didn't tell you to say anything," she scolded him, frowning. Through the dim light of his bedroom, he could see her blue eyes glinting in barely concealed amusement. He just set his jaw in slight annoyance at that, not fully willing to engage in her power trip quite yet.

"Hit a nerve there a little bit, huh, darling? That's okay…" she smirked. One of her hands started to travel down his stomach and slowly, painfully against his inner thigh before coming to a rest on his knee. He had to bite back a whimper at that teasing hand, so far from where he needed it the most.

Michael could only manage a half-hearted glare at her. "Oh, _come on_ , Amanda-" he started complaining before her hand reached up lightning-fast and struck him across the face. It wasn't until the stinging pain had settled in that he realized what had just happened. _Did she just...slap me?_ he thought hazily. It didn't hurt as much as it surprised him, but it did one thing for sure: it shut him up.

"Don't be a prick," she snapped, pointer finger in his face, and for a moment he wondered if she was genuinely pissed at him or just putting on a show. Either way, she was damn good at it. Before he could decide, she leaned down and put her lips to his ear. "You know what we agreed to," she whispered before hesitating a second and saying, "You can talk now if you want."

He just bit his tongue for a second before he said anything he'd regret. "Okay, _Officer Krystal_ ,"he managed to spit out, venom dripping from his voice as he said her stripper name. "Do your worst."

She laughed at that, and he immediately regretted saying it. "Oh, I will." Her hand quickly returned to his knee, earning a defeated sigh from him. Just as quickly as it was there, her fingers were gone, brushing mercilessly against the zipper of his jeans. He kept silent for once, but still tugged against the handcuffs nonetheless, making a small smile spread across her face.

For the first time since they'd started, Amanda met his eyes, the gentleness of them betraying her cocky smirk. Through the dim light of the room, he could see the pinkness of her cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell with each deep breath, and it made him feel good that she was just as excited as he was. The brief moment of triumph he felt at that look was swiftly cut short when she unzipped his pants and started tugging them off his legs.

He could feel his cheeks turn bright red as his hips started moving against hers, as if on their own accord. "Don't squirm," she demanded, forcefully pushing him flat against the mattress, and finally managing to get his pants off. The whine that he'd been suppressing finally escaped his lips, and he immediately disobeyed her and struggled even harder, the handcuffs rattling against the bedpost louder.

Her giggle quickly sounded through the air at his desperation, and he was acutely aware that she was nowhere near being done with him. It was karma, he supposed, for all the teasing he did to her. She was probably enjoying the opportunity to make _him_ the begging, sweaty mess for once.

Just as she'd tossed his pants aside, she started working his boxers off of him. It was significantly quicker this time because he was way too far gone to even fight against the restraints anymore. Michael let out an audible sigh of relief when she finished taking them off. He desperately wanted her to get it over with, to just finish him off already. A mantra repeated in his mind, one that he wasn't allowed to say, one word dominating his thoughts: _please._

Amanda, watchful as always, picked up on that and laughed. "I'm not done with you yet, Mr. Townley," she said as she playfully pushed him back down on the bed. Her fingers _finally_ touched him, trailing up and down the length of him for a moment, much to his pleasure, before abruptly pulling away.

"Amanda-" he whimpered before she put a finger to his lips, silencing him.

"Relax," she said softly, breaking character for just a second before sitting up. Her eyes stared directly into his, filled with admiration and anticipation, as she slowly started unbuttoning her shirt. He couldn't help but let a small smirk cross his face when she took her shirt off, revealing blue (his favorite color, he noted) lingerie beneath it. She noticed his satisfaction and started stripping for him even more slowly, making him glare at her in annoyance.

By the time that she was in nothing but her underwear, he was seriously contemplating begging. He had just opened his mouth to say something before she interrupted him.

"I have one more thing I need you to do for me, troublemaker," she said in a low voice, leaning closer to him.

"And what's that, officer?" he finally managed to ask, his voice returning to its usual confidence and composure. He looked up at her, eyebrows raised, begging for a challenge.

Her request-or command, more like-was simple: "Kiss me."

He happily obliged, awkwardly leaning forwards as best he could without tugging against the handcuffs. It was, without a doubt, one of the best kisses of his life, full of passion and excitement and _want_. They went on like that for a while until she, without skipping a beat, reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the keys to the handcuffs, finally releasing him from the restraints.

Michael didn't even take a second to get the blood flowing back to his wrists or catch his breath before he flipped on top of her with a renewed energy. She was just about to make a smart comment about it, but was interrupted by his lips finding the side of her neck, earning a small moan from her.

"Glad I could get you so excited, darling," Amanda finally managed to breathe out.

His only response to that was to kiss her harder and tug her underwear off of her. He paused for just a second afterwards, catching his breath briefly and looking down at her in admiration. That moment was fleeting, as, for the first time in the day, he slowed down, if only to move himself inside of her.

If there was one thing that the experience had done for him, it was motivate him. Not once did his pace falter or did he have to stop to catch his breath; he was only focused on making his girlfriend happy.

And that he did. For once, he didn't try to tease her like he normally did after experiencing it himself. Before long, she was moaning his name as he made her climax. Even after he'd finished and collapsed next to her, she was still trying to catch her breath. "Holy _shit_ …" Amanda panted out. "That was…"

"Amazing?" he smiled weakly as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, earning a silent nod from her.

It wasn't until they had cuddled for a few minutes and that she had caught her breath that she became aware of the mess they'd made. "Ugh…" she sighed in annoyance before starting to get up. "I'll be right back."

"Mandy, wait-" Michael started to protest, knowing full well why she was irritated with him, before she lightly shook him off and got up regardless.

"If I get pregnant, it's your fault, Townley!" she called out as she went into his bathroom.

"You're on the pill, it's fine!" he replied dismissively before adding, "Ha, could you imagine _that_ , babe? Us as parents?"

Amanda appeared back in the doorway, cleaned up with her messy hair tied back into a ponytail and wearing one of his t-shirts. "That would be a disaster, darling," she laughed as she tossed him the damp washcloth in her hands. "Catch."

He barely managed to catch it, fumbling with it in his hands for a second before he gratefully cleaned himself off and tossed it aside after he was done. She got back in bed with him after he was done and couldn't help but cringe slightly at his appearance, at the angry red marks around his wrists and the faint pink handprint on his face. "Sorry I was a little rough on you…" she apologized softly, pressing a kiss to the cheek where she'd slapped him.

Michael just shrugged. "Don't be. I probably deserved it…"

She looked at him suspiciously for a moment before a realization came over her. "You liked it, didn't you?"

"A bit," he said gruffly.

"You did!" she said excitedly, blue eyes twinkling with happiness and triumph. "I know you won't admit it, because that's the type of guy you are, but you _loved_ it, Michael."

"Well...it wasn't the _worst_ sex I've ever had…" he conceded hesitantly, trying (and failing) to stay indifferent as ever.

"Oh, yeah?" she asked flirtatiously, moving closer so that their lips were almost touching. "And what was the best sex you've ever had?"

He pressed a light, chaste kiss to her lips before finally admitting, "...The sex we just had."


	31. Puppy Love

_Back with another update_ _Lately I've realized that I haven't written much about them in Los Santos before everything went wrong, so I decided to do this chapter! This one is based off of the picture of a dog in the De Santa's mansion, and involves how they got the dog. Enjoy :D (P.S. I might write more about this certain dog if enough of you like it because this is one of my favorite ideas!)_

* * *

"We're not getting a dog." Michael crossed his arms and frowned down at his children. They had been trying to persuade him for at least half an hour and what little patience he had back then was gone now.

"But, dad…" they whined in unison, looking at him with pleading eyes.

He rolled his eyes in exhaustion. "No buts. We're not getting one. End of discussion."

Tracey pouted. "You're no fun…" she muttered under her breath.

"Hey, I'm fun," he defended himself. "I just don't want you two to sit there while I walk the dog, play with it, pick up the sh-" Halfway through his curse, Amanda elbowed him in the side, cutting him off. "Ow!" he snapped with a pointed glare at her.

Out of options, the kids turned to Amanda, who had been standing there neutrally the entire time. She just held her hands up as if to avoid another twenty minutes of arguing. "Hey, I think it's a great idea," she said with a soft, reassuring smile. "But it's up to your father…"

Michael barely had time to shoot her a betrayed look before they started arguing with him again. "Come on, dad! It's not like we can't afford it," Tracey gestured around the large mansion that they'd moved into only a few months ago. "We'll go for walks every day and we'll take really good care of it! And you know that we won't stop until you say yes!" she said with a mischievous look in her eyes that reminded him of himself. His daughter did most of the talking because they both knew that she could convince him in a way that Jimmy never could.

And damn it if it didn't work. "Fine," Michael said shortly, his sigh masked by their cheers of excitement. "...on a couple of conditions. First, you two gotta learn some responsibility and help take care of it. And number two, I get to name it. And you won't argue with me on this because I'm buying you this dog," he said before they could protest. "Now, uh, go wait in the car while I talk to your mother."

They nodded eagerly and ran outside to the car. "Thanks for that," Michael said sarcastically to his wife once the kids were out of earshot.

"It worked, didn't it?" Amanda smirked triumphantly. "A dog will be good for them, babe. Teaches them responsibility. Besides, I think you can handle the trouble a little puppy can cause."

"...I guess," he admitted unconvincingly as he grabbed his car keys.

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "You're a good man, Michael," she said before going out to the car.

* * *

The German Shepherd was built like a truck. It was all coiled muscle and power and probably weighed as much as Michael did. It was badass. He smiled down at it in admiration and the dog happily wagged his tail at him. The dog looked intimidating, but looked up at Michael with gentle eyes. _Nothing bad can happen to the kids while walking this dog…_

Amanda sauntered up to him and watched him starting to pet the dog through the bars of the kennel. "Hate to break it to you, darling, but I think they made up their mind," she said, gesturing to where their children were playing with a scruffy, undersized Labrador puppy.

Michael sighed. "Sorry, big guy..." he told the giant dog, giving it one last pat on the head before walking over to the kids.

"Dad, can we get this one?" Jimmy asked him quietly, looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes. The puppy was shaking with excitement and let out a few high-pitched barks when he saw Michael.

"Well, it's your dog, bud," Michael said gently, kneeling down to his son's height . "As long as your sister is okay with it, I don't care what we get."

"Oh, I'm definitely okay with it," Tracey said as she pulled it into her lap, where the dog happily licked her face and barked in happiness.

Despite his earlier words, Michael looked at the massive German Shepherd from earlier and hesitantly back to the tiny runt of a dog squirming in his daughter's arms. "Well, I guess this is the one."

* * *

Many adoption papers and a hundred dollars worth of dog toys later, they were home. Michael immediately grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat down on the couch, exhausted by the whole process. He hadn't even had the damn dog for a day and was already tired of all the work.

Just as he'd started drowning his sorrows, the sound of paws skittering across the tile floor filled his ears. He couldn't even see the dog until it appeared below him in front of the couch. Michael could _swear_ that the puppy was smirking at him as it jumped up into his lap and pawed at the beer in his hand. "Ah, ah, no…" Michael said, gently trying to keep the dog at bay. "This is mine."

Amanda and the kids appeared in the doorway, arms loaded with bags from the pet store. His wife raised an eyebrow at the beer in his hand but gave him a knowing smirk instead of making some snarky comment. "I think he likes you, babe," she said instead.

"Or maybe he's just looking for a drink," he muttered, watching as the puppy licked the condensation off of the bottle.

The kids immediately swarmed around the dog, fighting over who got to hold it. Tracey eventually won, using the timeless _I'm older_ excuse. The dog squirmed happily in her arms, but his eyes still darted over to Michael's drink almost longingly.

Jimmy sighed in defeat, glaring at his sister. "So, Dad…" he started.

"Hm?" Michael asked as he turned on the TV and started flicking through the channels before settling on an old movie, earning a content sigh from him.

"Have you thought of a name yet? I mean, we need to call him _something_ …" his son said, trailing off hesitantly.

"You know, I haven't decided myself, Jim…" Michael said with a contemplative look on his face. His eyes wandered over to the movie on the TV. _Ah, an old favorite. Hell, even Amanda likes this one,_ he remembered fondly before turning his attention back to his son. "How about Orion?"

Amanda laughed. "Really, Michael? From _Shoulder of Orion_?" she asked in disbelief, gesturing to the TV.

"Uh, _two_ , babe," he corrected her. "This is the sequel, which is way better if you ask me…"

"Well, it wasn't the _worst_ movie I've ever seen…" she admitted hesitantly before sitting down next to him on the couch and resting her head on his shoulder. "Kids? What do you think?"

Jimmy shrugged indifferently and looked over to his sister for guidance. "Dad _could_ have chosen a worse movie, Trace…" he admitted.

Tracey sighed in frustration, no doubt upset that she couldn't choose a girlier name, but relented anyways. "...fine."

Michael smirked in triumph as he looked at the dog. "Orion it is, then."

* * *

Surprisingly, the kids kept their word. Every day after school, they came home with nothing more than a " _Hi Mom, hi Dad!_ " before they slipped out of the door, leash and Orion in hand.

Michael _hated_ it. He hated the idea of his too-young kids wandering through the Los Santos streets with only a dog that was barely six months old to protect them.

He sat on the couch, pouting after they had left on their latest walk. Amanda, who had been walking past him into the kitchen, caught sight of him and frowned. She walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Darling, why do you get like this every time they go out?"

"It's _Los Santos_ , babe. That alone gives me plenty of reason to worry," he sighed. "I mean...hell, me of all people should know how fucked up people can be."

" _Relax_ , honey…" she murmured, continuing the kisses along his cheek. "This is the safest neighborhood in the city-"

He scoffed. "That says a lot in this fuckin' town," he snapped, causing Amanda to pull back and glare at him. "Shit...sorry, 'Mand. I...I'm just _worried_ , okay? Tracey's not even 14 yet, and Jimmy's only 11..."

Amanda relaxed a little at that and sat down next to him. "If you're so worried, then why don't you go with them?"

"Believe me, I've tried and they always say no," he said in a defeated voice. "Maybe I'm not the cool dad I thought I was…"

"If it helps, I think that you are," she smiled at him, gripping his hand reassuringly. "I don't know...maybe they're growing up, babe-"

"Ahhh, don't say that," Michael interrupted her, groaning and throwing his head back against the couch. "Makin' me feel old…"

"You're barely 36, darling," she laughed, allowing her hand to reach up and run through his dark hair. "I think being old is the least of your worries."

"Yeah, maybe-" he had just started to say before the front door opened.

"See?" Amanda whispered, nudging him in the side playfully. "No problems."

That had turned out to be a little bit premature as they quickly heard Tracey yell, " _Daddy,_ we need your help!"

"Ah, shit…" Michael muttered under his breath as he got up from the couch and walked to the front door, where he saw a very sheepish Jimmy and Tracey and Orion, whose normally golden fur was covered in mud. The dog just looked up at Michael and wagged his tail excitedly, sending bits of mud flying against the floor. "The fu-"

Amanda quickly interrupted him. "Kids…" she started gently, but firmly. "What happened?"

Jimmy shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. "Uh...we were walking him and Tracey kinda lost control of the leash-"

Tracey punched him in the arm, practically fuming in anger for getting into trouble. "Hey, you traitor!"

"Tracey Townley-" Amanda started to scold her before Michael cut her off.

"De Santa, babe. It's been three months now," he reminded her before leaning down to his daughter's height. "Now, I'm sure that you know that wasn't very nice, Trace. So I'm gonna ask you again: what happened?"

"Well...he kind of got a little excited and found a mud puddle. I'm _sorry_ , Daddy…" she said in panic.

"Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Michael asked with a smile. "And don't apologize to me; apologize to your brother."

"Sorry, Jimmy…" she muttered hesitantly to her brother, who was still clutching his arm in pain.

"Thank you, Trace," Michael said as he took the leash from her hand and started leading the dog up the stairs to the bathroom. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go fix the mess that you made…"

* * *

"Alright…" he muttered to himself, looking in between the puppy and the bathtub. "Shouldn't be that bad, right? Just like giving the kids baths when they were little…"

Michael picked Orion up with relatively little protest aside from licking Michael on the cheek. Carefully, he lowered the dirty dog into the soapy, lukewarm water.

That was where things went wrong. Orion immediately barked in panic and scrambled out of the water, splashing muddy water all across the bathroom and Michael himself.

"Okay…" Michael said slowly, wiping the water from his eyes and trying his best to stay calm. "C'mon, bud, a bath isn't that bad…"

He tried again and again, with the same result and Orion (and Michael) growing more restless each time.

After about his fourth or fifth attempt, Michael was about to lose it. "Oh, for fuck's sakes…" he exclaimed, trying to reach for the dog before slipping on one of the puddles of water that covered the bathroom floor.

Next thing he knew, he had landed face first in the tub, the water rushing into his eyes and mouth. After realizing that he had fallen on his ass into the bathtub, Michael sat up, sighing and spitting out the water that tasted of what he could only describe as wet dog, and glared at Orion.

The dog just looked at him with his tongue hanging goofily out of his mouth before happily jumping in the bathtub himself and sitting on Michael's lap.

"Of course…" Michael muttered as he allowed Orion to splash even more water on him.

* * *

After managing to muster enough courage, Michael left the bathroom with Orion in tow. The kids immediately gathered around the dog, petting his newly shiny fur and paying no attention to Michael, who was standing there sulking and dripping water onto the floor.

Amanda finally stumbled upon the scene and couldn't help but burst out laughing at the image of her pouting, soaking wet husband. "Sure looks like you 'fixed their mess', babe," she managed to say in between laughing her ass off.

Michael rolled his eyes as he swept the wet hair back from his forehead. "The dog's clean, isn't he?" he asked, gesturing to the Labrador puppy.

"You on the other hand…" she said, eyes wandering along him. "I need to know something, honey: who washed who in that bathroom?"

He set his jaw in barely concealed annoyance and gently pushed past her into the bedroom. " _Don't_ ," he muttered in embarrassment as he headed towards his own bathroom to wash the wet dog smell off.

* * *

"You never answered my question," Amanda said to him that night when they were laying in bed. She looked at him, eyebrows raised in question and a teasing look on her face.

Michael scoffed as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. "For the record, I totally had it under control."

" _Right,_ babe," she smirked, resting her hands on his chest. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Hm..." he started, trailing off before allowing his lips to meet the side of her neck. "I dunno about you but... I can't sleep tonight."

"And what are you gonna do about that?" she whispered in his ear, watching as he started to position himself above her.

"Well…let me show you…" he said, grinning down at her almost hungrily.

He had just started kissing her when they heard the whimpering of their dog from outside the bedroom. Michael hung his head, sighing in defeat, and looked to his wife almost pleadingly.

"You better go check on him, honey," she said with a sad smile.

Michael opened the bedroom door to the sight of their puppy sitting right outside the door, pawing sadly at where the door had been. Once the door was open, Orion perked up and immediately sprinted in between Michael's feet into the bedroom before swiftly hopping onto the bed.

"Well, I guess he's staying in here for the night," Amanda said, smiling as the puppy licked her in greeting.

"I guess…" Michael conceded gruffly, shutting the door behind him and getting back in bed. Orion happily greeted him, too, before curling up and swiftly falling asleep in between him and Amanda.

"He must be tired from dealing with your ass all day," she said playfully, starting to pet the sleeping dog.

"Yeah, probably…" he said with a low laugh. Despite his indifference and lingering anger towards the dog, his hand wandered over to Orion and lightly ran over the soft fur of the dog.

"You know, Michael, I think you kind of like him," she said, noting his shaky hand gentleness as he pet their puppy.

Michael shrugged, but smiled at the tiny runt of a dog, anyway. "Yeah...he's alright."


	32. Falling Apart

_Back with another update :D This one is a lot more angsty than the last few, so I apologize in advance for any feels it might give you! This chapter chronicles how Michael and Amanda's relationship fell apart over the course of a few years…_

 _As always, enjoy!_

* * *

He was different. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something was _wrong._ He'd been distant lately, cold and quiet. The rare times he talked to her or the kids, there was a certain anger in his voice and it sounded almost resentful. It scared her.

She looked over at him hesitantly. He stared at the TV (all he'd been doing for weeks now), a faraway look in his eyes. They were only inches away from each other on the couch, but he felt miles away from her.

A small smile crossed her face as she thought of something to lighten the mood. She sat up and moved into his lap, straddling him and trying to ignore the way he tensed up under her touch. "Hey," Amanda said softly, smiling down at him. "I was thinking we could do something tonight. You know, just you and me."

Michael frowned at her dismissively, looking over her shoulder to see the TV. "I'm too tired tonight, 'Mand," he drawled lazily.

She sighed. "Michael, what's wrong?" she whispered suddenly, looking deep into his eyes with desperation and sadness.

"Nothing's fucking wrong," he immediately snapped, annoyed. "Look...I appreciate you trying to do shit with me, but not tonight."

"You've said that for the past three weeks," she said harshly. "I don't know why you're acting like this, but-"

He held his hands up defensively. "I'm not acting like anything! Maybe I just need some fuckin' space right now."

"Fine," she started, getting up from the couch. "Sorry for bothering you, Michael," she said sarcastically.

He opened his mouth to say something, an apology, maybe, but just shook his head as if to convince himself not to.

Amanda stood there for a second, hoping, _praying_ that he'd change his mind, and say anything to her. When he didn't, she just turned on her heel and started walking away. She blinked back the tears forming in her eyes, telling herself that he was fine, that he wasn't any different. _He's just in a mood. It won't last..._

* * *

 _Side effects may include: headaches, insomnia, anxiety, weight gain, suicidal thoughts…_

She read the list off of the bottle of antidepressants in her hand, which their therapist had miraculously convinced her husband into taking, and quickly put them back down after reading the last part. He'd only been taking them for a few weeks, but the side effects were already apparent. He wasn't himself anymore, just a depressed shell of what he used to be, and that scared her more than anything else.

Amanda knocked on their bedroom door, where he'd locked himself in for hours now after taking his usual dose, and called out softly, "Michael? Are you okay in there?" _Please answer..._

Silence followed for a few moments, making her heart drop into her stomach, before he finally said something. "Yeah, I'm fine…" he replied, before pausing hesitantly and adding, "You can come in if you want…"

The sight that met her when she hesitantly opened the door almost broke her heart. Michael sat on the edge of bed, his shaky hands clutching his head desperately, and a whiskey bottle was in a death grip in one of his hands. She immediately rushed over to his side, gently prying the alcohol away from his fingers. "Michael, you know you shouldn't be drinking after you've taken these..." she tried to scold him, but all of her anger had faded into concern.

"I know...I'm sorry. I can't help it…" he slurred, weakly trying to take the bottle back before she set it down on the nightstand. He sighed in defeat and just kept staring at the ground. "Feels like I'm fuckin' falling apart, Mandy, and I can't _stop_ it…" he muttered, eyes briefly flickering over to the pillow where he hid his gun.

The last side effect she'd read about quickly flashed in her mind and she took his face in her hands and gently turned it towards hers before he could get any ideas. "You're gonna be just fine, okay? This…this depression is just temporary, darling-" she started, but quickly was interrupted by him standing up and shaking his head.

"I dunno...I mean just _look_ at me, 'Mand," he said, gesturing to his appearance, at his mussed hair and red, crazed eyes. "I jus' don't feel like myself anymore. I'm just as good as my father now: a worthless fuckin' drunk. Hell, I'm just as good as this _whole town_ …"

A sudden kiss to his lips cut off any more protests he could make. She held him tightly against her as she kissed him, desperately trying to put all of the reassurance she could into one single kiss. When she finally pulled away and opened her eyes, she was expecting to see happiness or even relief from him. All she saw was pure fear in his now-lucid eyes as he whispered: "I don't wanna become a fuckin' tragedy…"

"You won't," she whispered, holding his face in her hands, trying to comfort him, but she could feel the tears running down her own cheeks. "You're stronger than...than whatever this is, Michael. We're gonna get you through this…"

Michael let out a deep breath and leaned down to bury his face in her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around his neck and gently stroked his hair for a long few moments until he managed to find the energy to speak again. "Amanda?" he asked, voice cracking.

"Yeah?" she managed to ask shakily.

"I don't like what I'm becoming."

* * *

"You don't have to sneak out, you know," she sighed from the bed, eyes desperately meeting his in the dimness of their room. She watched as he shrugged his jacket over his shoulders, as he tucked something that she couldn't see (but she just _knew_ what it was) into the waistband of his jeans.

Michael froze like a deer in headlights for a moment before that familiar mask of anger came up, one that she had been acquainted with for about five years now. _What happened to us?_ Amanda had to wonder as she stared at him.

It had started with that indifference, that uncaring attitude that was so unlike him. She'd brushed it off at first as just another mood that would pass with time, but then the antidepressants started and ended just as quickly as they began, leaving him even more miserable than before. Then he started staying out late, then they started arguing more, then she came home one night and found him with a stripper in their own bed…

His words snapped her out of her brief thoughts. "Like you care what I do anymore," he scoffed, starting for the bedroom door.

"I _do_ care, you ass. I care that you're putting yourself back into that...that life that we tried to escape from for over ten years," she snapped, digging her fingers deep into the bedsheets to try and calm herself down. "But...my feelings aside, how do you think the kids feel about you bringing this lifestyle through the door?"

He laughed at that. "Oh, we wanna talk lifestyle? I got some issues with theirs. Yours too, for that matter."

"They don't kill people, Michael. _That's_ the difference." Venom dripped from her voice and she could tell that she struck a nerve by the way he turned around to face her, eyes lit up with anger. For a moment, she felt a sick sense of satisfaction that she _finally_ got him to care about something, even if it was something as stupid as this.

Michael crossed over to the bed, leaning over her and practically seething. "So them doing drugs and porn and you fucking every guy that you can find are all okay as long as I do what I have to do to survive? Ugh...you know what? I shoulda seen this coming. This is what I get for meeting the mother of my children at a strip club and expecting her to fucking change-"

"Screw you, Michael, you massive fucking hypocrite!" she hissed, trying to keep her voice down so the kids wouldn't hear their latest midnight argument, which had become an almost nightly ritual at this point. "I dropped fucking _everything_ to come here and live out your crazy Vinewood dream, and what did I get after everything we've been through? I got to see my husband of over _twenty years_ fucking some whore in my own bed! And you have a _lot_ of nerve telling me that I never changed while you run around on some nostalgia trip!"

He rolled his eyes at her dismissively before looking over at the clock. "Whatever, I'm gonna be late. I don't have time for fuckin' marriage counseling right now because I gotta go pay for the mess that _you_ got me into somehow…"

"Yes, because I _totally_ made you pull an entire house off of a hill…" she said sarcastically.

"At least it's not what you do: banging some stranger and then _weeping_ ," he said, his voice a mocking whimper in imitation of hers. Through the darkness of their- _her_ -room (Michael had stopped sleeping in bed with her a long time ago) she could see the cruel smirk on his face, could see the coldness in his dark blue eyes.

"Of fucking _course_ it would come to this," Amanda scoffed, reaching him up and shoving him back. It wasn't much, just an open palm to his chest, but it was enough to make him stumble back a couple steps in surprise. "I'll have you know that I _never_ looked at any other guy, never even _thought_ about another guy until you cheated on me first, Michael! You know…at least I actually do things besides drinking myself to death and killing people!"

"Yeah, because popping pills and daytime drinking is _so_ much better," he said almost boredly. "It's funny how you act so much better than me, but you and I? We're the same. Same shit childhoods, same fucked up world views, same bad fuckin' habits. But the difference is that I actually show some remorse for my bullshit-"

Her eyes flashed. "I _knew_ this would become about you! It always does!" she yelled, not even caring about keeping her voice down anymore. "Sad Michael is fucking sad again! Well, I'm _done_ with it!"

"Oh, you are?" Michael taunted. "Does that mean you and the kids are finally gonna leave me the hell alone so I can get some peace and fuckin' quiet around here?"

She didn't respond to that, just turned on her side away from him so he wouldn't see the tears forming in her eyes. "Fuck you, Michael. Fuck you," she managed to shakily say. "Leave me alone. Go, do whatever you want. I don't care anymore."

"Happily," he said under his breath, starting for the door before adding, "Don't wait up for me."

Amanda barely registered the sound of the bedroom door slamming, barely registered the sound of the front door close behind. It wasn't until she heard his car peeling out of the driveaway that she buried her face into her pillow and let herself cry as she thought of how broken they'd become.

* * *

 _Maybe I should've just said no_ , she thought as she downed her fourth-or was it fifth?-drink. Maybe she should've just stayed in North Yankton, left him to his crazy Vinewood dream. She never signed up for this rich life, never signed up to be the walking stereotype of the depressed alcoholic mom. Never signed up to be so angry all the time.

But here she was, drinking and popping pills (how ironic that she always got at Michael for doing the same thing) while her husband was back to his old habits.

Her red, tear-filled eyes flickered over to the TV. _"Jewelry store robbed!"_ the headlines brazenly proclaimed. She'd forced herself to listen to the news report; she'd wanted, no, _needed_ to know. The corny movie line that one of the witnesses recited was all she needed.

She kept drowning her sorrows in Michael's whiskey, but the warmth and familiarity it offered had long since faded away, giving way to the hopelessness growing inside of her. He was back in in that life of death and destruction and nothing she could do would stop him.

The front door opened, but she didn't even notice it until Michael's bitter, half-hearted shout of "Honey, I'm home!" filled her ears.

She angrily turned around to face him, slamming her glass down on the counter with a frustrated thud. He had a stupidly smug grin on his face, and she could smell gunpowder on him from that far away, but most of all he had that _look_ in his eyes. That look filled with adrenaline and excitement and _happiness,_ something that she hadn't been able to get from him for years.

Amanda didn't say anything to him, but the look in her own eyes said everything she needed to. It was filled with hurt, betrayal, and pure sadness. _I know what you did_ , it said. _Why would you do this?_

The smile on his face faltered, but those eyes stayed the same. Wordlessly, he brushed past her and up the stairs. The dull thud of his footsteps going upstairs was quickly interrupted by his frustrated sigh and him rushing into the bathroom. "Tracey, cut that out. _Now_ ," Michael said sternly, worriedly.

Amanda could hear her daughter panting for breath upstairs. "I had a really heavy lunch. It's nothing more than that…" Tracey whimpered. "Go away…"

"I ain't going anywhere until you stop this, okay?" he said gently. The sound of him moving upstairs was muffled through the walls, but she could practically see him kneeling down to their daughter's height and stroking Tracey's hair reassuringly as she expelled her insecurities into the toilet. It had become an all too familiar sight for Amanda throughout the years. "I thought we got you over this, Trace…"

Tracey's sobs went straight through the walls, straight through Amanda's heart. "Nobody wants a fat daughter…" she cried softly.

Amanda had to step outside once she heard that, tears running down her own face. Still, those five words echoed in her mind on a loop, reminding her of all of her failures in life. Her husband, her kids...God, what was next?

* * *

"You have to leave him," Tracey told her abruptly.

Amanda looked up from where she had her head in her hands. She looked around the house, empty except for her and her daughter. Michael and Jimmy were off doing God only knew what after their failed yoga session...or latest and greatest argument, more like. "What are you talking about?" she finally managed to mutter.

"Dad is _losing_ it. We both know that he's robbing and… and killing again," Tracey said uncomfortably. "And with Uncle Trevor back...he's gonna get himself killed! You know what a magnet for trouble he is, and what if he brings that home?"

"I...I know, but…" Amanda sighed deeply, staring down at the wedding ring on her finger.

"But what?" Tracey crossed her arms, frowning at her before her voice grew soft and serious. "I heard the fight today, Mom. And I've heard the ones you've been having at night, too. I just think it'll be better for everyone if we have a little time apart, you know?"

Amanda stared at her daughter in shock. The girl who used to worship the ground that her father walked on, the girl who tried so hard to always get his attention, the girl who had been crying to him not even a week ago...the girl who was suggesting that they leave him. Still, she thought of who her and Michael had become, how he'd stared into her eyes with such a hatred and coldness only an hour ago…

"You're right…I don't think it's good for any of us anymore," she finally admitted shakily. "Will...will you go pack your things? I need a little alone time…" she said softly, wiping the tears away from her eyes.

Tracey leaned down and hugged her gently (something that she hadn't done in a long, _long_ time) before wordlessly going upstairs to her bedroom.

Amanda let the tears freely run down her face as soon as she heard her daughter's bedroom door shut. Looking around, she saw the house for what it really was: a place filled with nothing but empty hopes, empty promises…

She got up, feeling numb as she walked around the house for the last time, knowing that she wouldn't be back any time soon. Resentment grew deep inside of her with every picture she saw. The picture of their old dog, Michael with the kids, her and Michael on their wedding day…

She had to resist the uncontrollable urge to throw it against the wall, to watch it break and shatter just like their marriage did.

Still, her hands held back, and she moved into the kitchen before she did anything even more rash before finding herself staring down at his bottle of whiskey in hatred. Always hated the drink, always hated how it made her feel, always hated as she'd watched him down bottle after bottle…

Years of bitterness and regret were coming to the surface and she couldn't stop herself from looking back on them. She wished that she could just leave right now, never tell him anything. Still...even after everything they'd been through, she had to let him know…

Amanda managed to find a piece of paper and her hands were shaking as she picked up a pen and began to write.

 _Michael_ , she started. _I think you've finally lost your mind..._


	33. Making History

_Back with another chapter! :D I felt like some cuteness was much needed after last chapter, so this chapter happened, which has Michael and Amanda at various points in their relationship in North Yankton! This will be kind of a filler while I work on my other story (which I'm finishing the last couple chapters of!) As always, enjoy, review, and all of that stuff!_

"Don't you ever want to leave this place?"

The question came out of nowhere. They were walking to her place, the neighborhood silent except for the snow crunching beneath their feet, when she'd looked over at him and blurted out that question.

Michael just continued walking, staring down at the snow. "Don't worry, I'll take you somewhere nice."

Amanda shook her head. "I mean leave the city, the state. Leave North Yankton."

"Oh, yeah? Where do you wanna go? _South_ Yankton?" he teased. "Or I could take you down to Carcer City if you want."

Her face scrunched up in disgust. "Hard pass," she said. "I don't even know _how_ you survived being in Carcer for even a week and I wanna be some place far away from any state with the word 'Yankton' in it…"

"Aw, c'mon, babe, it could be...nice...there," he said doubtfully.

"There _are_ other places besides the Midwest, Michael," she reminded him gently. "Have you really never thought of leaving here?"

"Eh, I don't know…" he shrugged helplessly. "I kinda accepted the fact that I'll be stuck here my whole life a long time ago…"

"Me too, but...think about it. This place holds _nothing_ but bad memories for both of us, darling," she said, a shiver running through her as she thought of their awful childhoods. "Don't you want to just leave all of that shit behind? To just start new somewhere else?"

He thought about that. Thought about his days as a scrawny 19-year-old in prison for the second time that year, wondering how to get _big_ and go somewhere new and exciting (and warm…). "I mean _yeah,_ that would be nice, but-"

"But what?" she crossed her arms and frowned at him. Unlike him, she had never been outside of North Yankton in her twenty-one years and that ambition showed.

He let out a deep sigh and ran his gloved hands through his hair. "But I can't exactly get a _real_ job, Mandy. And, hell, babe, we barely have enough money to pay rent; we don't have enough to pack up and move somewhere else."

"So we save," she said as if the answer was easy. "A couple extra nights at the club won't hurt me. And we have the savings from you being a high-rolling criminal and all…"

"Alright, fine. You got me there," he conceded, smiling at her enthusiasm. "But what about a ride to get outta here? I mean, my truck isn't the newest thing ever…"

"We can use mine. No offense, darling, but I definitely trust my car more than that thing…" she laughed.

 _Well, at least her car isn't a rust bucket that's older than her like mine is,_ he thought with a chuckle. "Okay…" he admitted.

"Transportation is covered, then," she said confidently. "Any other questions?"

"Where would we go?" he sighed. "We've never really been outside of North Yankton…"

"You tell me," she said, delicately walking backwards through the snow with a huge grin on her face. "What place would be fucked up enough for both of us?"

"What about…" he trailed off for a moment, thinking. Suddenly, it hit him: the place of fame and fortune, the one where the best movies were made. "Los Santos?"

"Of course you'd choose Vinewood," she smiled as if she already didn't know what he'd pick. "It'll be nice, though. You and I with an apartment overlooking the city, going to the Del Perro Pier every night to watch the sunset, laughing at all the superficial rich people…"

"Sounds perfect," he said softly, smiling as he watched his girlfriend practically dance across the snow with a newfound lightness. Still, the pessimist in him kept gnawing at his brain, telling him to say something, to ruin it like he ruined everything. "Amanda…"

"Yes?" she hummed in contentment, brimming with a happiness that sent butterflies to his stomach.

"I..I dunno, it seems crazy even for us…" he muttered uncomfortably. "I...it just seems like a fantasy, babe...you know?"

"Since when have we _ever_ been above craziness? You rob banks for a living, I take my clothes off in front of guys for money. We've never _been_ normal, darling, and I doubt we ever will be…" Amanda trailed off before her voice went soft and she grabbed his hand, interlocking her fingers with hers. "Leaving this place isn't impossible, Michael. How can I convince you?"

Michael smirked at her expectantly, his eyes wandering down to her parted lips. "Well…" he started teasingly.

She laughed. "Of course…" she said just before she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her height for a kiss.

It was, without a doubt, one of the best kisses of his life. The world seemed to stop around them as they kissed, time seeming void for just a moment. Amanda's lips moved gently against his, warm, reassuring, and every type of confident. Whatever semblance of hesitance he had was quickly crushed by her kiss, replaced by a happiness he hadn't ever felt before.

"Does that convince you?" Amanda asked after they pulled away, breathing a little heavily.

He barely even had time to nod before they fell into another kiss. It felt like something straight out of one of his old movies: thedashingly handsome hero (if he did say so himself) kissing his amazingly beautiful girlfriend in the middle of an empty street, the world quiet and still save for the snow fluttering from the sky and their sighs of satisfaction as they kissed.

When they finally broke apart, they were both grinning like idiots. "I _could_ be more convinced…" Michael managed to say.

Amanda patted him on the chest lightly. "I'm pretty sure it was convincing enough if you felt the same way I did during that," she said with a blush. She reached over and grabbed his hand again, tugging him along towards her trailer. "We could do it, Michael."

He nodded. "I...I know you're right. Let's do it," he said suddenly. Amanda looked at him as if he was high or fucking with her. "I'm serious, babe. You and I, together? This cold, tiny shithole doesn't stand a chance. Let's get _out_ , Amanda. Just you and me."

"Really?" she asked eagerly, earning a nod from him. "Alright...shit, um...I'll start taking some extra shifts at the club…"

"...And I can do a couple more jobs," he added, grinning at her. "We're doing this."

"We're doing this," she repeated breathlessly, laughing as they walked along.

Before they knew it, they were outside her trailer, but neither of them wanted the night to end quite yet. "Thanks for walking me home…" she murmured as she pressed a kiss to his cheek before smirking at him flirtatiously. "Do you wanna come in?"

He came in.

* * *

"What are you doing?" Amanda asked, leaning against the door with a frown on her face. They were up in his hotel room, where she had paid him a surprise visit before he went off to do another job. Now, here he was, an hour late and practically glued to the bed.

"Babe, this time I _really_ gotta get going…" Michael said insistently, starting to get up before Amanda stepped in front of him, grabbing his hands in hers and placing them onto her waist. Her own traveled up to his broad shoulders, red painted nails digging into his bare skin. His breath caught in his throat at the contact.

He hesitantly looked up at her. She was wearing nothing but his shirt, but it was a little too short to cover everything up... and she had left most of the buttons undone...and _fuck_ now he was staring…

Amanda tilted his face back up to hers with a knowing smirk. "You don't _gotta_ be going anywhere, Townley."

"But the guys-"

"Can wait." She backed him up against the edge of the bed and playfully shoved him back down onto it, earning a defeated sigh from him. "Come on, darling. Stay for just a little bit longer?"

He tried his best to distract himself from the way her hands started to run through his hair, how she not-so-subtly tugged his head closer to her. Tried to distract himself from the overwhelming smell of her perfume, the intoxicating scent of alcohol on her breath, but he couldn't. _Fuck it_ , he decided, grabbing her by the hips and pulling her down to him. "Oh, you're gonna be the death of me, Mandy…" he murmured just before their lips met.

She giggled in between kisses. Soon enough, the shirt, the sole fabric that was separating them, was discarded and forgotten as he pulled her back onto the bed.

Hands wandered, lips wandered as they were determined to make what little time they had beneath the hotel sheets count. It was so normal, so routine for them at this point, but this time felt different to Michael. It felt like _home_.

Soon enough (too soon), they were done and, after a few minutes of cuddling, faced with the pressing dilemma of him leaving. Amanda, snuggled up in his shirt again, whimpered and tried to pull him back down into bed, but this time he shook her off.

"I won't be gone long, okay?" Michael said reassuringly, going about to find his clothes scattered on the floor. He had just finished putting his jeans on when he felt her foot nudge against him.

"Kiss," she demanded when he looked back at her.

He laughed as he leaned over the bed and gave her a quick kiss. "Happily," he smirked before trying to find the rest of his clothes.

"And babe?" she asked. "I got a little surprise for when you get back," she winked as she held up a dime bag of coke.

"Oh, fuckin' A! Forgot I stole that from Trevor," he muttered happily, still looking around before he stood up and crossed his arms impatiently. "Can I have my shirt back now?"

"But it's so _comfy_ …" she pouted, burying herself deep into the loose-fitting shirt and hugging the half-empty bottle of whiskey that they'd kept in bed to her chest. "I need _something_ to remind me of you while you're gone."

Michael sighed in defeat, knowing that he wouldn't get her to take it off ever, much less right now. "Alright, fine…" he muttered, leaning down to his bag and managing to find a different shirt. "And Amanda?" he asked once he stood back up.

"Yes?" she hummed innocently in between sips from the bottle.

"My keys?"

Amanda shrugged helplessly, holding up her empty hands. "I have _no_ idea where your keys went…"

"C'mon, babe. You're a better shoplifter than pickpocket," he laughed, holding out his hand expectantly. "And I do need to make the money for us to have any chance of getting outta this town."

She sighed in defeat before pulling out the car keys and tossing them to his awaiting palm.

"Thank you," he said, leaning down to the bed to give her a gentle kiss on the lips. "I promise you I'll be back soon, darling. I ain't gonna fuck this one up this time. We…" he said, gripping her hand reassuringly. "We can just pick up where we left off."

She bit her lip hesitantly as she watched him head for the door. "Michael?" she called out softly. He turned around to face her, his handsome face gazing at her in question. His hair was still a little messed up (she so wished that she could reach over and smooth it back) and his eyes were glinting with excitement, and it gave her a feeling that she hadn't ever felt before. _I love you_ , she wanted to finally tell him, but all that came out was, "Stay safe, please?"

"I always am," he chuckled, but she could feel the same longing in his own voice. "I'll see you later, darling."

* * *

"What if it's a boy?" Amanda asked. They were in his bed, their eyes fixated on the ceiling. It was late, but both of their minds were whirling from the day's events.

 _She's pregnant._ Michael was still reeling over the news himself. Sure, he was excited, ecstatic even. A part him of had always wanted a kid so that he could prove himself to be better than his father ever was, but he was so fucking _nervous._ He was barely 23; Amanda was only 21. What did they know about raising a kid?

But, instead of voicing his concern like any other asshole, he just laughed shakily. "A bit early for that, eh, babe?"

She rolled her eyes dismissively. "Well, we're gonna have to decide _sometime_. So, give me your ideas," she demanded, nudging him with her foot.

"Ah, well, let's see…" he muttered, stroking his non-existent beard as if deep in thought. "Michael Jr. has a nice ring to it…"

"Oh God, no. One of you is enough," she laughed. "And, besides, what if it's a girl?"

"Then we name her Amanda," he said with a shrug.

Amanda slapped him on the arm teasingly. "But _I'm_ Amanda...and would you take this seriously, you ass?"

"Honey, I take _everything_ seriously. Especially little Michael's future," he smirked, earning a glare from her. "Aw, c'mon, don't you have some ideas, 'Mand?"

"Well…" she said thoughtfully, resting her head on his shoulder and trailing her fingers along his chest. "I've always liked the liked the name Tracey for a girl. For a boy? I have no idea. I've been with way too many assholes that I'd never let my kid have the same name as them. What about you?"

He thought about it. He wouldn't wish his father's name on his worst enemy, and he never had the greatest male role models growing up that he could name a son after. After some thinking, he finally thought of the one guy who had treated him with some fairness growing up. "I dunno...I kind of like the name James…" he muttered, trying to appear indifferent.

"That your dad's name?" she asked. It was an innocent enough question; after all, he hadn't told her all about his awful childhood yet. He knew he'd have to do it eventually, but he wasn't in the mood to do it right now.

"Fuck no," he scoffed, voice a little harsher than he had intended for and making his girlfriend flinch. "Shit, sorry, babe...I...I'm just not on good terms with him, okay? Let's leave it at that…"

"Okay," she said calmly, not pressing him any more about his father. It was one of the things he loved about her. She could tease him and make fun of him all she wanted, but gave him space when he needed it.

 _Love,_ he realized he'd thought. They'd said it to each other for the first time that day, and it shouldn't have been that big of a deal, but it was to him. He'd been a lone wolf for most of his life, and he was still in awe that he had a girl who worried about him, who cared about him. Who _loved_ him.

He quickly changed the subject before he told her something too cheesy. "But, ah...it was my football coach's name. Guy was a tough old bastard, but he was the only one who showed me some respect when I was a kid," he said with a fond smile. "He'd probably have a heart attack if he saw me now…"

"Well, I think he'd be glad to see that you kept fit," Amanda teased, reaching down to feel the taut muscles in his arms. "James…" she echoed, feeling the name out. "I like it."

Michael smiled at her almost shyly, not-so-secretly glad that she was happy with it. "I like your idea, too," he said.

"Thanks, darling. Well, the good news is that we have names taken care of," she said, grabbing his hand and gripping it reassuringly. "We'll get through this, Michael. We always do."

A relief surged through him at the touch, more intoxicating than his favorite whiskey ever was. Before he knew it, he was saying it again: "I...I love you, Mandy," he said.

"I love you, too, darling," she replied. The words seemed to effortlessly roll off her tongue, and he wondered if she'd been meaning to say it for a while, too. She snuggled up closer to his chest, yawning. "I should probably get some sleep. Good night, Michael."

"Good night, sweetheart," he said softly. He watched with a smile on his face as his girlfriend drifted off to sleep. Somehow, he felt a little less afraid for their future.

As he stayed up late that night with Amanda nestled in his arms, he fully realized how much he needed her stability and warmth in his life, how much he never wanted to lose that feeling.

He went out and looked for engagement rings the next day.

* * *

Michael played with the hospital bracelets around his wife's wrist anxiously, smiling slightly when he saw his last name after Amanda's name. They'd been married for a few months now, but seeing his name with hers still gave him as much pride as it did as the first day.

Amanda looked over at him, smiling weakly. Her face was still pink from overexertion and her dark her was stuck to her forehead with sweat, but he found her just as beautiful as ever. "Do you wanna hold her for a while?" she asked, holding out the bundle of blankets in her arms to him.

"Of course," he said softly, taking their daughter from her. "You rest, honey," he told her, brushing the strands of her away from her face with his free hand.

She nodded, yawning, and shut her eyes, almost immediately falling into a deep sleep. She must have been exhausted, he noted, from everything that day. From the stress of going into labor when Michael was out on a job to worrying about whether or not he'd make it (he did!) to almost punching him in the face when he got there to...now.

Michael looked down at his newborn daughter in admiration, his hands practically shaking as he held her. "Hey there, baby girl…" he whispered, careful not to disturb her or her mother.

 _Tracey Townley_ , he thought fondly, staring down at her. They'd gone with Amanda's original name suggestion, but she promised him that if they ever had a boy, he got to choose. He had to admit, though, the name sounded better than anything he could come up with.

Things would be hard, impossible, even, with his lifestyle and a kid, he knew that, but he was _hopeful._ Him and Amanda were determined to be better than their parents ever were, to break the vicious cycle of neglect they'd been through.

He'd done a lot of bad, stupid things in his life, but having his daughter would never be one of them. His heart had fluttered from the moment he'd laid eyes on her only hours ago. _She's perfect._

Michael was almost glad that Amanda was asleep so she couldn't see the tears of happiness forming in his eyes.

* * *

Like clockwork, the crying woke them up at two in the morning. The bleary-eyed new parents had to wonder when the last time they'd gotten a full night's sleep was as they struggled awake. Amanda had just started to get out of bed before Michael gently pulled her back down and got up instead. "It's my turn, anyway," he said before heading into Tracey's bedroom.

Amanda _knew_ she should sleep. She wanted to go back to sleep so badly, but her brain was in overdrive. _Is he happy?_ she had to wonder. When she'd met Michael, she would have never expected that he'd be the type to get tied down, to get married and have a kid. At first, she didn't care. She hadn't been the type either, and why did it matter?

But here they were, married for half a year with a three-month old daughter. Everyone had told her that he'd change. That he may have been acting happy now, but he'd get resentful. That he'd wished he'd never settled down...

The crying had long since since stopped, she realized, but he wasn't back yet. Amanda finally rolled out of bed and wandered over to the next room in the small trailer, yawning the whole way there.

The sight that she was met with erased any of the doubts that she'd had. Tracey was fast asleep in her crib, thanks to her father's natural calming reassurance, and Michael was standing above her with a loving smile on his face.

He jumped slightly when he noticed her watching him in the doorway. "Oh, hey...thought you'd be asleep by now," he said softly, trying not to wake Tracey.

Amanda shrugged. "Can't sleep," she murmured, walking up beside them and looking down at their sleeping daughter.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" Michael asked with a proud smile. "Gets that from her mother."

She smiled back at him hesitantly, but that doubt still tugged at the back of her mind. "Hey...are you happy?" she whispered suddenly.

He looked at her in confusion. "Why wouldn't I be? I have the most _amazing_ wife, a great daughter…"

"I don't know...maybe it's stupid, but you never struck me as the type to get settled down, you know?" she said, biting her lip nervously. "I...I thought that maybe you'd regret all of this…"

"Amanda, honey, do me a favor and look at her," he said, waiting for her to oblige before he continued. "How can I _ever_ regret that? She's you and me and she's _perfect,_ babe."

When he put it like that, it _did_ sound pretty stupid. She couldn't help but smile down at their daughter. Oh, it was gonna be so hard to raise her, but they'd do it, especially after tonight. "We never did get to leave, you know…" she said.

"That's okay," he said, looking down at Tracey. "I got something better."


	34. Need You Now

_I probably sound like a broken record at this point, but sorry (again) that it's been so long! This chapter ended up being the longest yet and it took way longer than I thought! On the bright side, it's about 2 times longer than usual! I got inspired for this by jamming out to "Need You Now" by Lady Antebellum on an old playlist, and thus this fic was born. I won't spoil too much aside from the fact that it's set after the Bureau Raid and our favorite couple has a lot of regrets at the moment… (Enjoy :D)_

* * *

 _Fuck, I'm really drunk._ That was the only thought that could form in Amanda's addled mind as she reached for her fifth-or was it sixth? She had honestly lost count after the vodka shots-drink of the night. She really didn't care, though. Her boy toy had left her hours ago; her kids were off doing God only knew what; her husband was probably dead somewhere or, if he wasn't, was hating her guts.

That was why she was there: to get wasted and forget about the mess that her life had become. But she couldn't forget. With all of the liquor and her uncontrollable urge to _not_ remember anything, remembering was all she could do. Flashes of memories from two decades ago filled her head: of cheap perfume, fishnets, and car sex; of the boyish smiles that her husband had always flashed her, of his ambition and bravado that had faded over the last ten years over countless bottles of whiskey, of his love of her that had spoiled like milk and turned into contempt.

Nothing seemed as pretty as the past. Not the bright, flashing lights and the glamour of Los Santos, not the expensive cars and piles of overpriced clothes and shoes, and certainly not the younger men that practically fell at her feet these days.

 _I miss him_ , she lamented with a sad sigh, putting her chin in her hands and leaning up against the bar counter. She really shouldn't have been missing him, after how much hurt he'd caused her, after five years of stagnation and anger and cheating and bitterness, but she did, and she couldn't stop it.

He, at least, wasn't doing too bad for himself, Tracey had told her a few days ago. He'd somehow managed to get an actual job as a movie producer, which made her heart ache in some bittersweet way. He'd called her about it, left her a voicemail that she'd never responded to ( _"Hey, baby!" he'd started it oh-so-happily. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm finally doing something with my life. I'm making a movie! A real one! Call me.")_.

The very specific image in her mind of him following around his boss like a happy little puppy dog, bright-eyed and swaggering and enthusiastic as he was in his twenties, still made her smile. Michael had always loved old movies, sometimes more than he loved her.

Still, she couldn't quite put together his face after all the months she'd been gone. The light stubble on his face, that soft, dark hair that she'd always loved playing with, those baby blue eyes, but most of all, she couldn't quite see that _damn_ smile. He may as well have been a stranger to her now, and no amount of thinking could put the puzzle pieces of his face together.

Amanda pulled out her phone, scrolling through hundreds of pictures until she found one she liked. It was an old one of them, only about a couple years after they'd moved to Los Santos, and Tracey had taken it while they weren't looking.

It was of just her and him, cuddled up on the couch in the dark with only the TV illuminating their faces. She could still remember that day vividly, despite her drunkenness and despite how long it'd been. It had been Halloween, and he'd roped her into watching some god-awful horror movie that was older than they were.

In the picture, Michael's arms were wrapped around her waist, his lips were against her ear-either to kiss her or tell her some cheesy joke-and he had a genuine grin and happiness in his eyes. She was laughing, and her eyes weren't looking at the TV, but up at him, and they were full of blind love and admiration.

 _What happened to us?_ she wondered as she stared it at and zoomed in on his face, at the happiness that he'd once had so much of, the happiness that he only gained now from chasing the past just like her. It wasn't really him, just a collection of pixels that showed what he used to be, but she found herself in awe of him all the same.

 _No, it's not him,_ she managed to convince herself after at least five minutes of staring. _Not anymore_. He'd stopped being that man a long time ago and the best thing she could do was move on…

"Oh, who am I kidding?" Amanda said under her breath, mentally cursing when she noticed the slur of her voice. She could never move on. Not from him. She always thought of the bitter, depressed man he'd turned into and tried to reassure herself that she'd made the right decision, but lately she couldn't get the man he'd been in the picture-all smiles and charm-out of her head. Couldn't get the girl _she'd_ been out of her mind, either. It made her wondered if they could ever be those people again; it made her want to _try._

It was a rare moment of clarity in a time where there shouldn't have been one; she _was_ still wasted after all. But what was that saying? A drunk man's (or woman's, in this case) sayings were a sober man's thoughts? Maybe she just needed an excuse to act on them…

If there was one thing the alcohol did, it was make her lose control. Before she knew it, she was reaching forward to grab her phone, stumbling a little as she did, and pulling up his contact before taking a deep breath and calling him.

* * *

 _Fuck my life,_ Michael thought as he popped open a new bottle of whiskey and collapsed on the couch, spent. It was one in the morning, for fuck's sake, and he'd just gotten home after being roped into doing the FIB's dirty work for the umpteenth time. Running through a burning, collapsing building while having over fifty pounds of firefighter gear strapped to him was _not_ high on the list of things he'd rather be doing, such as drinking and passing out on the couch. He still smelled like a goddamn bonfire. The only bright side of the damn job had been getting his files erased, more payment than any cut could be.

But he was fed up with it, tired of it all. Tired of doing their dirty work, tired of knowing that he'd wake up in the morning and nothing would change, tired of knowing that he probably wouldn't even make it to see "the Big One", tired of being alone.

Michael sighed, looking around the empty house. Yeah, he'd acted indifferent, had told Tracey the other day that he was doing just fine, thank you very much, but that-like most of the things he said-was a lie. He looked at all the discarded takeout boxes, at the empty beer cans and bottles, at the broken picture frames on the floor (victims of the first night he'd been alone after a bottle and a half of alcohol) and felt the emptiness trouble his mind again.

He missed them, so much. Missed Tracey's stupid antics, so much like his own when he was younger; hell, he even missed Jimmy hurling insults at his TV over that dumb game. But most of all, he missed _her_. Missed Amanda's constant energy and fire, missed her warm, comforting presence next to him in the bed that always stopped his nightmares (no matter how distant they'd become, it was always there).

He missed the people that they used to be, the ones in the picture-perfect memories that were shattered on the ground, surrounded by the broken glass of their frames. _You brought this on yourself_ , a cold voice in his head hissed. _You were a depressed asshole, so they left you_.

They'd left, moved somewhere far from where ever he was. Maybe it was for the best, he thought as he took a drink. He'd spent these past few months, hell, the past few _years_ even, chasing his past and only remembering why he left it behind in the first place. The endless death and destruction, twenty-four-seven, day in, day out. No rest, no control, no boundaries; the only constant being chaos. It hadn't been the right thing for him back then, and it sure as hell wasn't now.

How many chances at a normal life had he'd gotten, only to throw it away chasing after some job? _This'll be the one, baby, I promise,_ he'd told Amanda so many times back when they were a couple of dumb kids in North Yankton. The one where he'd finally make it big and they could be happy, be normal. But those promises were empty, at least until one day in early 2004 where they finally were fulfilled. He'd thrown that one away, too, on motels and cheap women, on fast cars and expensive alcohol, on fucking _stock market exchanges_ , even. On the cheating, on the bitterness, on the nostalgia for days that hadn't been that great in the first place.

"Was it all worth it…?" he muttered under his breath as he lifted the bottle to his mouth. Was it? His life falling apart, his family abandoning him, being exiled to the godless land of the desert for weeks, going through days of torture, thinking that he was going to die alone...was it worth it for some petty cash?

 _Fuck no._

Michael set down the bottle and put his head in his hands at the realization. No, it wasn't. Nothing was. Nothing would ever be enough to justify losing his wife and kids. He got up, kneeling down in the glass shards to retrieve his wedding picture, and sat back on the couch to stare down at it, at their young, happy selves.

That was the one bright spot of the "good old days": her. Her, with the stunning blue eyes that always threatened to drown him; her, with the sharp wit and sarcasm that rivaled his own; her, the only girl that he'd ever loved. They'd been happy back then, the happiest he'd ever been in his life, but he'd fucked it all up.

 _I'm sorry, Amanda…_

He delicately set the picture back down on the coffee table amongst the trash that he'd delayed throwing away; a diamond in the rough of crumpled beer cans and pizza boxes. He put his head in his hands, groaning at the horrible mess of his life. Well, on the bright side, at least he'd probably be dead in a couple weeks anyway…

The ringing of his phone next to him pulled him out of his routine, nightly self-pity party. "Oh, fuck off…" he muttered instinctively, grabbing it and expecting to see Dave or Steve calling him to get him into another job that would get them all killed.

His eyes widened in shock once he saw who it actually was: Amanda, who hadn't returned any of his dozens of calls and texts. _Misdial_ , he told himself before he got excited. Had to be. It was one in the morning; she was probably asleep, anyway. _With that fuckin' French asshole next to her…_

He ignored it.

" _You have one new message,"_ the robotic voice on his phone told him about a minute after the ringing stopped. _"Message received today at 1:15am_."

"The hell…?" Michael said under his breath. Hesitantly, he picked up his phone and went to listen to it. He wasn't quite sure what to expect. Her yelling at him, telling him that she was finally done with him, saying that she'd gotten the divorce papers? It was the most likely thing to happen, he knew, but still pressed " _listen"_ anyway. _Only one way to find out…_

It was loud, that much he could tell even before she started talking. A bar, maybe? _"Heyyy, Michael, it's me, your wife,"_ Amanda slurred into the phone. Oh, she was _wasted_ , he immediately realized. _"I guess...I guess I just wanted to say I...I miss you, you ass. I miss_ us," she said sadly before sighing. " _I don't know...maybe this was a bad idea, but I...uh...I'm sorry. For everything. I...I love you. Shit...I'm really drunk,"_ she said abruptly before ending the voicemail.

He sat there, stunned and wondering if he had drank more than he thought. He had to listen to the message at least two more times to convince himself that it was real and not some hallucination that his brain was torturing him with. "Shit…" he said to himself, leaning back against the couch and running his hands down his face.

What the hell was he supposed to do now? Ignore it and let her sober up? Let nothing change between them? Or was he gonna go over there and talk to her, at the risk of her not even being at the bar anymore (He already knew which one; they always went to the same bar) or her changing her mind and yelling at his ass?

Michael already knew the answer to that. "Screw it," he muttered under his breath before standing up and grabbing his car keys.

* * *

The second he set foot in the bar, Michael became acutely reminded of why he didn't go to these types of places anymore. Bahama Mamas West was the type of club he would have _loved_ twenty years ago, but one he wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole now. He had a feeling that Amanda was there for the former.

He hated it. Hated the bright blue neon lights burning into his eyes, hated the shitty electronic pop music thumping in his ears, hated the girls who were young enough to be his daughter constantly bumping into him, drunkenly hitting on him and trying to unbutton his shirt.

Finally, he made it over to the bar, where he found Amanda. She was slumped over the bar, leaning over the half-empty glass of red wine that she was nursing, and had an undeniable look of sadness on her face.

The sight of her, no matter how miserable she looked, made his heart start thumping against his chest. The last time he'd seen her was almost two months ago, when he'd been a spluttering, stupid mess in the pool and she'd been screaming insults at him.

Now, she was looking absolutely stunning in a short black dress that had been meant for another guy who was nowhere to be seen; Michael probably looked like shit in comparison, with dark circles under his eyes and a little bit of soot still in his hair from earlier because he hadn't had the time or energy to shower.

He swallowed nervously, feeling even more out of his league than usual, and started walking up to her. _Be calm, keep cool,_ he told himself.

Michael sat down in the empty barstool next to her. _"This seat taken?"_ he'd meant to say in a cocky, smooth voice, but all that awkwardly came out was, "Uh, hey, Amanda…"

Amanda about jumped ten feet in the air from surprise when she heard his voice. She looked at him in shock and hesitation at first, and he became worried for a second that she'd throw her drink in his face or slap him or something equally as embarrassing, but all she did was shakily say, "Michael...shit, hi. I'm, like, glad to see you and all...but what _are_ you doing here?"

"Got your message," he said. "Kinda figured you'd need some company after that. Y'know...where is your little boy toy?"

"He fucking _left_ me here two hours ago. Told me I wasn't very 'zen' or some shit like that," she slurred angrily before letting out a self-deprecating laugh. "Ironic, huh? The leaver got left…"

He sighed. "Amanda-" he started, knowing full well where she was going with this, but she waved her hand, cutting him off.

"Forget it," she said dismissively. "I'm drunk. I don't know what I'm talking about…"

"Sure sounded like you did on the phone," he replied quietly.

"Maybe…" she muttered, lifting the wine glass to her mouth and downing the rest of the drink in one swift gulp. She turned back to face him, a forced, awkward smile on her face. "So, what have you been up to tonight? Thought you'd be asleep by now..."

"Nah, I couldn't sleep. Too busy thinking about shit," he said. A complete lie, but maybe she was drunk enough to fall for it.

She wasn't. Her blue eyes narrowed in suspicion, and she leaned close enough to him so that her face barely brushed against his while she no doubt inhaled the heavy smell of smoke that still hung on him. He, meanwhile, was too busy taking in her scent of alcohol and that familiar, intoxicating perfume.

With no warning, she reached up and ran a hand through his hair-making his heart stop for just a second-and when she pulled it away, telltale specks of soot were in her hand.

"Bullshit," she immediately said, snapping him out of his daze. "Nice try, Michael. I know I'm drunk, but I'm not _that_ drunk. So, what was it tonight? A jewelry store? A bank out in the desert?" A certain bitterness hung in her tone, but there was undeniable sadness lurking behind those eyes that were hazy with drunkenness.

Michael winced at that. Of course she'd know he'd done those; he hadn't exactly been subtle about it before she'd left. "The FIB. I robbed the FIB," he sighed. He longingly glanced over at the bartender, wishing he could take the edge off, but he figured one of them ought to be at least a little bit sober.

Amanda's eyebrows shot up in shock. "Well, shit...that's certainly different. I'm, um, really glad you're okay…"

"Eh, 'okay' is relative," he shrugged before waving down the bartender.

* * *

She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she watched him call the bartender over. _Of course he would get a drink_. Maybe this whole thing had been a bad idea, but she honestly didn't know what to expect when she'd called him. Now that he was actually here, a little beaten up and rough around the edges, but looking _good_ ( _Is he thinner? He looks thinner…)_ , she had no idea what to do or say, and that tension and awkwardness was already apparent.

With her lower lip hesitantly held in between her teeth, she stared at him. He had dark circles under those _gorgeous_ eyes and the stubble on his face was a little thicker than usual, but he still looked the same as he did the day she left, all bright blue eyes and cocky smiles. And those broad shoulders and hard muscles…

Amanda, in her drunken haze, didn't notice him trying to get her attention until he lightly rested his hand on her shoulder (and didn't notice the fact that he had no drink in front of him and was tucking his wallet into his pocket with his free hand). The feeling of that strong, familiar touch was enough to snap her out of it for a moment.

"Hey, let's get you outta here. Don't think this place is good for either of us," Michael said, smiling sadly at her.

She nodded. It was probably for the best, she lamented as she stared down at her empty glass. The place held nothing but hollow memories for her, anyway. "Yeahh, fine…" she slurred, reaching for her purse. "Just give me a minute…"

"Already took care of your tab," he said, offering her his hand, which she gratefully took after nearly falling off of the barstool. Heels and drunkenness were _not_ a good combination.

"Really?" she asked, stumbling as she allowed him to lead her through the crowded bar. She clung tightly to his arm, gripping it as if it were a lifeline and the club was some dangerous pit that threatened to swallow her up.

"Yeah. Least I could do." He practically had to shout over the shitty, deafening music that was fueling her alcohol-induced headache.

 _Ugh, it feels like the world is spinning..._

As they made their way through the bar, she noticed a few twenty-somethings staring at him almost predatorily. A sudden, inexplicable pang of jealousy shot through her at those familiar looks. _Stop it_ , she told her muddled, confused mind. _He hasn't been yours to be jealous about in a long time…_

Still, she couldn't help herself from dumbly blurting something out. "Michael…"

"Yeah?"

By now, they had made it outside, and it was only them and the bitter air surrounding them. The sun had set well after she'd set foot in the bar, and rain had started to pour down, illuminating the nighttime Los Santos streets in a dripping haze of neon blues and purples. She couldn't help but shiver slightly from the air meeting her bare skin and from her own nervousness.

"I'm sorry…" she whispered, unable to meet his gaze. When she finally managed to look up at him, he was struggling to find the right words to say and had nothing but panic and regret on his face.

"I-I'll go grab the car," Michael stammered out before hastily brushing past her, leaving her standing under the awning of the bar to regret her decisions.

"Shit," she said under her breath, watching as he all but sprinted across the road into the rain. Maybe she'd misinterpreted the whole thing; maybe he was just doing it to be nice (for what reason he had to be nice to her, she had no idea) and _not_ because he agreed with the things she'd said on the phone. _Idiot…_

Her self-deprecation was-probably for the best-cut short by him pulling up next to her and silently getting out of the car to hold the door open for her. She couldn't help but smile at that, at that old-fashioned, instinctive way of his. The car, like its owner, was familiar in its cigarette and nostalgia-laden ways, and it made her relax for just a second before it soon faded to muddled confusion.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked as he started the car up. She searched his face for any ulterior motive, any anger that may have been lingering, but either she was too drunk to find it or he had improved his poker face over the last few months because there was nothing but that same sadness on his face.

"Doing what?" he said distractedly, keeping his eyes locked on the road for once instead of wandering around like usual (she had a feeling it wasn't because of his upstanding reputation as a safe driver).

"Helping me. I mean... _shit..._ I thought you hated me after everything that's happened…" she muttered.

Michael sighed and ran a hand through his wet hair in frustration and exhaustion, sending drops of rainwater splattering against the dashboard. "I don't hate you, Amanda. I just...I've spent these last couple months thinking that _you_ hated me and hating myself 'cause of it, and when you, uh, called me and said all that stuff…" he said, groaning as he ran a hand down his face. "I got to thinkin' about it on the way here and I started to wonder that if those things were true, then _why_ didyou leave?"

She rested her head against the window and stared wistfully at the raindrops rolling down the glass. "I was hoping you'd chase after me."

That stopped any hope for further conversation. He shut down, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles and his jaw was ticking in barely concealed emotion.

 _Well, that's that,_ she thought sadly before resigning herself to the painfully awkward silence. It was true; she'd always hoped that it'd be like his old romance movies and he'd come running after her to tell her to stay. But Michael was never the type of guy to come to her begging on his knees and she wasn't one to tell him how sorry she really was. Well, at least until tonight she hadn't been…

A couple minutes into the seemingly endless red light they were stuck at, she could barely take it anymore. Amanda reached over and turned on the radio, internally groaning at the time the bright LED numbers burned into her eyes. _2:00am._ Too busy thinking about her impending hangover, she barely listened to the too-peppy DJ talking about throwback songs until the opening guitar thrums of a song she vaguely recognized from almost six years ago started.

" _You used to get it in your fishnets  
Now you only get it in your night dress  
Discarded all the naughty nights for niceness  
Landed in a very common crisis  
Everything's in order in a black hole  
Nothing seems as pretty as the past though  
That Bloody Mary's lacking in Tabasco  
Remember when you used to be a rascal?"_

She quickly turned the radio back off the second the first verse ended, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. Was it even possible for a song to describe her so well? The wild nights turning into mature ones, the order and control sucking her life into a routine, the futile attempts to feel excitement again…

The short-lived attempt to entertain her with music only made her feel shittier about her life, about her doomed marriage that had burned so brightly and fizzled out like a firework, about that drunken call and the depressing car ride of memories they were in. All of this probably wouldn't change anything between them, anyway...

* * *

"Thought you liked that station," he said in a poor attempt to make small talk. He was desperate to try and distract himself from the things she'd just told him. His mind was still reeling. It had been that one word that had short circuited him, that one _damn_ word that they still couldn't tell each other over half a decade of fighting, the one she'd told him two times already within forty-five minutes.

 _Sorry._

"I do. It's just…memories," Amanda sighed deeply, trailing off as she stared out the window at the rain.

She'd always liked the rain, he remembered, unlike him. He'd hated it for a while until she dragged his ass out into the rain throughout the years, kissing him out in it until he'd finally changed his mind. She found it comforting, but he had a feeling that it didn't offer much comfort right now.

It sure wasn't for him. _She wanted me to come after her,_ Michael repeated it in his head for about the millionth time. At first, he'd thought she'd made it abundantly clear that she wanted nothing more than for him to fuck off, but a few minutes into being stuck at the light ( _fuckin' traffic…)_ , it had started to make sense.

The entire mess had been a cry for help from the beginning. The spending, the drinking, the _cheating._ How fucking dumb had he been? She'd texted him about that tennis coach so many times, begging him to play with her instead. She'd had sex with the guy where _she knew she would be caught_ , for God's sake. Attention (well, and probably revenge…) was all she wanted, but he, like the oblivious idiot he was, ignored her…

He had been too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice the traffic light _finally_ change to green until Amanda softly said, "Uh, the light…"

"Thanks," he said, starting to drive along before realizing he had no idea where the hell he was going. "So, uhm, where does this little boyfriend of yours live, anyway?"

She immediately started panicking. Her eyes widened in nervousness and she fidgeted uncomfortably in the passenger seat. "No, please, _no_. I _can't_ go back there tonight, Michael," she pleaded. "It's driving me fucking insane! If I hear the word 'namaste' ever again, I swear to God, I'll scream. Take me anywhere else, I don't care. Just anywhere where _he's_ not."

 _Trouble in paradise, huh?_ he mused, but held his tongue. Probably wouldn't have been appreciated, and he didn't have it in him to be that much of an ass. At least not tonight he didn't. She _did_ seem pretty desperate, so he figured he'd oblige.

"Back to the house it is then," he said.

* * *

Michael had never been more anxious in his life than he had been when they set foot in the house. He expected some half-hearted snark, some disappointment at the mess that was their house, maybe some passive-aggressive comments to convince himself that he shouldn't have been expecting anything different.

It never came. If anything, she seemed nervous as she hung off his arm on the way to the bedroom (she was too drunk and too tired to go up the stairs herself).

"Sorry 'bout the mess…" he apologized sheepishly when he opened the bedroom door. She shrugged indifferently, but he noticed the way that she stared longingly at their wedding picture-still surrounded by the glass shards of the frame-on the floor. A pang of guilt shot through him at that look and no amount of trying to shrug it off helped.

Amanda not-so-elegantly collapsed on the bed, a grateful sigh escaping her lips as she immediately tore off her uncomfortable heels and tossed them to the floor. The relief quickly faded as she bit her lip in hesitation. "Um, so, Michael…" she started.

"Yeah?" he asked, voice growing muffled as he went into the closet to change out of his clothes that were still wet from his brief, panicked sprint into the rain. He traded the button-up and slacks for a t-shirt and sweatpants-clothes that were perfect for passing out drunk on the sofa downstairs.

"I wanted to say thanks. You know, for tonight. God knows _Fabien_ wouldn't have done it," she said, spitting out the name with a venom that she'd usually reserved for Michael. He had to admit, though: it felt good to not be on the receiving end of it for once.

"Eh, don't mention it," he said nonchalantly, quickly running a towel through his hair before starting for the door. "I'll, uh, I'll be crashing on the couch if you need me."

"Michael?" she quickly called out before he left. When he turned around to face her, she was tapping her fingers against the mattress nervously and her voice was shaky as she said, "Can you stay for a bit?"

His eyes widened in shock for a second before the advice he'd given himself earlier rang in his mind. _Be cool,_ he told himself as he stuttered out, "Sure, of course." He winced at that response while walked over to the bed and laid down next to her. She was on his side of the bed instead of hers, but he didn't mind. For the last two months, he'd been sleeping on her side, anyway.

"So…" she drawled out, trying to break the tension and awkwardness that hung in the air.

"So…" he echoed, staring up at the ceiling.

"These past few years have been pretty crazy, huh?" she said with a bitter laugh.

He had to chuckle at that. That was the understatement of the year if he'd ever heard one. "That's one way to describe it…"

Amanda turned on her side to look at him, her head propped up with one arm, and smiled regretfully at him. "We had some good times, didn't we?"

"Yeah...yeah, we did," he said softly, looking back on those wilder days of being just a couple of dumb kids that only had eyes for each other. The days of dark, hot clubs and cheap beer and lines of coke and kisses out in the snow.

"I still remember the time when we took Trevor's truck out for a joyride and went to that lake you found for the day. God, I thought he was gonna kill you!" she giggled.

"It was the only time when that godforsaken town was above 50 degrees! And, heh, skinny dipping there with you _was_ some of the best fun I've ever had," he chuckled.

She slapped his arm playfully, but that lightheartedness quickly turned into sadness. She looked at him with bright blue eyes that were blurry with tears. "I fucked up," she whispered.

"No, you didn't-" he started to sigh, but she cut him off before he could say anything.

" _Yes,_ I _did_ ," she said insistently. "Jesus, just think about it, Michael. We used to be happy, and now we're not. And it's all my fault. I mean, fuck, I spent my whole life trying not to be like my mother, but look at me. I drink _wayyyy_ too much, I'm a horrible mother, an even worse wife. I'm just like her. It's like a self-fulfilling prophecy. I'm a failure, just like she'd said I'd be. You always said we'd never be like our parents, but-"

"Hey, stop that. You're _not_ a failure, okay?" he said softly. Part of him wanted to reach out and grab her hand, but the other part was still unsure of where they stood. Instead, he gave her a reassuring smile. "If anything, that's me. You tried your best, I know that. I-I wasn't there as much as I should've been when the kids were growing up and I put it all on you. I screwed everything up and I dragged you down with me. _I'm_ the fuck-up. Not you."

Amanda rolled her eyes and let out a sigh of frustration. If there was one thing they both had in common, it was that they were stubborn. "We're both fuck-ups, then. I did a lot of dumb things that I regret, too, Michael. I acted like a stupid fucking child," she slurred angrily, her red, tear-filled eyes not able to meet his. "I tried to pretend I was twenty again, but it just reminded me that I missed you. I missed _us."_

Michael nodded, finally working up enough courage to reach over and brush the tears away from her eyes before they had a chance to roll down her cheeks. "I missed you, too," he whispered, acutely aware of the way she was inching closer to his lips with every passing second. "I, ah, I did a lot of thinking these past couple months and I realized, well, A) I'm a major ass, and-"

With no warning, she put her finger to his lips, silencing him for a moment as she said, "Are we gonna keep arguing over which one of us is the bigger idiot or are you gonna kiss me?"

He kissed her.

It was soft and slow and everything like he'd wished it be. Things weren't okay and this didn't erase what had happened, but they were together again and actually getting along for once.

Still, a feeling nagged at the back of his head, tugging at his mind. She was drunk, maybe this was a mistake (despite his body telling him it was anything but), maybe she'd regret this when she was sober…

He pulled away for just a second, gasping for breath and trying to ignore the way she tried to pull him back into the kiss. "I'm sorry," he panted out. "Are you sure-"

The only answer he got was Amanda grabbing him by the front of his shirt, her fists full of fabric as she kissed him even harder. "Please," she whispered hoarsely after he tried to pull away again. "Kiss me."

That was all he needed. The kisses started to grow stronger, wilder than they had been for years. Her lips crashed against his, soft and every type of passionate. It was, without a doubt, the best kiss he'd had in a long time.

Before he knew it, he had roughly grabbed her by the hips and pulled her into his lap. Her fingers sifted through his hair while he buried his face into her neck, leaving a trail of kisses down her neck. Soon enough, her hands traveled down the base of his neck and under the collar of his shirt, fingers drawing gentle circles against his bare skin.

Michael gasped against her skin, making him break the kisses for just a second before he moved his lips back to hers. Her lips tasted sweet and like wine against his, and just a addicting. The intoxication enveloped him, swallowing him whole as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer. They kissed desperately, as if it was the last kiss they'd ever have, their whole bodies curving into each other's like two puzzle pieces finally being reunited.

Within seconds, she was tugging at his shirt and had it tossed to the floor while he wasted no time in reaching over and unzipping the back of her dress, pulling it down her body until the sheer fabric gathered in glossy waves at her waist.

Her fingers had just started to slip under the waistband of his pants when he managed to break the kiss, breathing a little heavily. "Are-are you sure you wanna do this?" he asked gently, making sure he stared deep into her eyes while he said it.

"Yes," she whispered before wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning in so that she murmured against his mouth when she said, "Just shut up and kiss me."

* * *

" _Shit..._ that was…" Amanda gasped out once they were finished. She panted, resting her head on his shoulder as she caught her breath. By now, most of the alcohol had worn off, but even her hangover couldn't overcome the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

"Amazing?" he asked with a tired smile. He reached over and tucked a stray lock of wavy hair behind her ear, still trying to catch his breath himself.

She snuggled up closer to his chest, nodding. "So, I was wondering something…"

"Hm?" he grunted out, too exhausted to come up with a coherent reply.

"When we...when we were talking earlier," she started breathlessly. "I kinda cut you off before you said what part 'B' of your fucked-up realizations was."

"Oh, yeahh. Before you interrupted me by, uh, askin' me to kiss you," Michael said with a laugh. "I was gonna say that: B) my old life isn't all that I thought it'd be, so I'm done with it. I'm so close to getting out, 'Manda. Just one more job, and I'm done for good this time. And I was thinkin' that when I was done with it, maybe...maybe we could try this thing again. Start over and give this another shot. Me and you and the kids…"

She nodded, grinning up at him with a happiness he hadn't seen in a long time. After all these years, it still made his heart flutter just like it had the first time. "I'd like that, darling. I really would."

He looked at her in almost shock. He expected a little bit of that stubbornness to come out, some of the classic "playing-hard-to-get" but she had apparently dropped all of those pretenses at this point. "You're ready for this? Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"It's not gonna be easy, you know," he said hesitantly.

She smiled at him confidently, the familiar confidence practically radiating from her. "Nothing worthwhile ever is. Although, I _could_ be a little more convinced…" she said with a mischievous glint in her eye. _There it is._

"Oh, yeah?" he asked playfully, gathering her up in his arms and pulling her closer. "And how can I convince you?"

"Well, round two would be a start…"

 _A/N: P.S. The song that was on the radio in the car was "Fluorescent Adolescent" by the Arctic Monkeys, which reminds me a LOT of Amanda, and I thought its lyrics were too fitting to not include_


	35. Cuffs II

_Back with another update! Sorry it's been so long again; life has been chaotic lately. On the bright side the last chapter of my other story (which, if you haven't read, I obviously recommend) is almost ready and I have a couple different multichapters planned out coming out soon (hopefully)_ _This chapter is a bit of a filler until then, and involves a certain mission involving shoplifting taking a different direction…_

* * *

"I can get in a car myself," Amanda snapped as she was stuffed into the back of a cop car with all of the gentleness and caution that she'd expected of an LSPD officer that was tasked with dealing with bitchy suburban housewives like her.

The cop glared at her through the tinted windows of the car. Funny how a few years ago something like that would have scared the shit out of her, but now she couldn't find any fucks to give. "You had that opportunity," he said gruffly.

"Stupid bastard…" she mumbled under her breath, shifting uncomfortably in the musty leather seat of the cruiser. It wasn't-admittedly-her first time being in the back of a police car, but the last time she'd been in one had been about 25 years ago. She'd been 18 and had been picked up for public intoxication after partying a little too hard with her friends. Her mother had refused to pick her up from the station until the next morning, she remembered with an irritated sigh.

She zoned out a little bit, looking out of the window and only half-listening to the cop and that stupidly _smug_ store detective talking about her ("I told you: she's a biter!"). Oh, good. Shoplifting _and_ assault. _Great job, idiot._

What the hell had she been thinking? Shoplifting...what was she, 15 years old? She hadn't done it in ages, and she'd only done it back then because she'd been too poor to buy anything nice for herself. That and partly because of that adrenaline it had given her.

Maybe the latter had been why she'd swiped those earrings and stuffed them into her purse (In her defense, they had been _really_ cute earrings). The risk of being caught, the feeling of hiding something, the thrill of taking something that wasn't hers...it all made her feel like she was twenty again. Well, it _had_ until the security alarm had gone off and that nosy store detective confronted her…

Glancing anxiously out the window, she bit her lip, knowing that her time was almost up. _Where the hell is Michael?_ she thought angrily. He should've been there by now and, knowing him, wouldn't miss the chance to make fun of her for this. Ugh, he was gonna have a field day with this…

Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime of waiting, she saw him strolling towards the police car with his hands stuffed into his suit pockets and a cocky smirk on his face. God, he may as well have been whistling with how nonchalant he was…

Still, a pang of something ran through her, not quite happiness (she hadn't felt that for him in a long, _long_ time), but not quite the usual overwhelming anger and resentment-though that was definitely there, too. Relief, maybe?

It was almost eery how casual he was when he walked right past the police officer without a second glance and calmly got into the driver's seat as if the cop car was his own. Michael didn't even give her a second glance as he wordlessly put the car into drive.

"Shit! Alright, let's go!" she said in shock, panicking in her seat while Michael looked like he was about to go for a joyride judging by that familiar look in his eyes. She scoffed. Of course he'd be enjoying this; it was probably filling that fucked-up void that she'd never been able to fill. "Let's _go_ , Michael."

" _Relax_ , I'm on top of it," he drawled out lazily, not paying any attention to her as he started to speed away from the police officer and the wannabee security guard. His eyes-bright with more excitement and emotion than she'd seen in years-darted to the rearview mirror and to the scene they were fleeing, momentary concern flashing across them when he saw the cop start to come to his senses. "Duck."

Amanda barely had time to process his warning and get low in the seat before the gunshots started ringing in her ears. The back window shattered as a bullet went through it, only inches from where her head had been, and the futile shots fired at the car while they drove away did nothing but deafen her even more and drive her annoyance.

"Well, hello to you, too, Michael," she said shakily, trying to disguise her fear as frustration. When he didn't respond, all she could do was roll her eyes at his long-standing indifference. "Ugh, you're probably loving this, aren't you?"

His eyes flashed, and a small, sick sense of happiness went through her that she _finally_ got him to care about something, even something as stupid as this. "Oh, yeah. Risking prison. Getting _shot at_. Love, love, _big love_ ," he growled, sarcasm dripping from his voice with each word.

For once, she had no snarky comment to shoot back at him (and was honestly too tired to argue with him right now), so she just sulked in the backseat while the former famous getaway driver did what he loved best: running from the cops. With that cheeky smirk and the adrenaline in his eyes, he looked like he was straight out of an old heist movie. They may as well have been, she noted, with the amount of cop cars that always seemed to be lurking around the corner. Jesus, there was even a _helicopter_ after them _..._

She, meanwhile, was having a panic attack in the backseat and was being tossed around like a ragdoll thanks to her husband's masculinity-fueled driving and the handcuffs bound tightly around her wrists. "Hello! No seatbelt!" she reminded him not-so-gently after being thrown against the window for the tenth time.

Michael glared at her through the mirror. "Oh, I'm sorry. Would you rather I lose the cops and get both of us outta this car quicker or do you want me to obey traffic laws and get us both shot in the face?" he said angrily, his jaw starting to tick in that way it always did when he was getting _really_ pissed off.

Amanda (wisely) held her tongue again, resigning herself to the bruises she'd no doubt have later and to the failed attempts at an argument. Only they could argue while being chased by the police…

Even though they were silent in the car, the outside world was anything but. The sirens always seemed to be right on their tail, threatening to swallow them up, and the whirring of the helicopter blades seemed to permanently on top of them despite her husband's best efforts.

She did have to give it to Michael, though: he was as level headed and calm as he could be. He'd always been scarily calm under stress; the complete opposite of her. If anything, that little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and that _damn_ look in his eyes made it seem like he was having a normal drive-aside from the fact that they were going 80 miles an hour and chased by the police, of course. To be honest, it was kind of hot-

 _No,_ she told herself before those thoughts could go any farther. _Stop it._ It'd been ages since she'd thought of him in that way and even longer since she'd acted on it. Besides, he seemed to be interested in something completely different than her…

Somewhere during her haze of stupid thoughts, the chase had led them from their preppy, upper-class neighborhood and into the different world of eastern Los Santos, whose squalor and poverty-stricken streets were all too familiar of her past. The roads, along with her breath, begin to constrict, becoming too narrow for both them and the LSPD.

At least, they had been until Michael, with a swift jerk of the wheel, turned them down a dark alleyway that looked like it belonged on a true-crime show with the syringes and crumpled beer cans littering the ground. He all but grinned in triumph as he sped down the secluded path and turned down another alley, where he soon stopped. Huh. Maybe he knew the streets here better than she thought he had...

Michael quickly turned the car off and collapsed against the seat with a grateful sigh. She soon got the feeling that both of their hearts were pounding in their chests so hard that they could hear it in their ears. "Make a sound and we're both fucked," he muttered before lapsing into the dead silence again.

For the next few minutes, the only noises were her own panicked breathing slowing down, the low tick of the engine cooling off, and the sirens that grew fainter by the second.

Finally, after what were the most stressful minutes of her life, the police sirens stopped. "Holy shit…" she finally said shakily, earning a weak laugh from Michael. For a moment, her heart fluttered in between the pounding. It'd been a long time since she'd heard him laugh in a non-sarcastic way. Admittedly, it was nice, despite the circumstances "So...is that it? Are they gone?"

"Yeah, of course they are. C'mon, who are you talking to?" he said, that mask of bravado and false confidence quickly coming back up. Of course. That rare moment of vulnerability he'd showed couldn't have been more than fleeting.

"Right. I almost forget that this what you love doing the most," she said venomously.

He ignored her, which was probably for the best, and set about finding the key that the cop had miraculously left in the car. "Here, lemme get the keys to those cuffs…" he said, reaching in between the fence that separated her from the front of the car and slipping the key into the lock of the handcuffs, expertly freeing her from the restraints.

Amanda sighed in relief, rubbing at the angry pink marks that had started to form at her wrists. She had just started to open her mouth to thank him when he just had to ruin it all.

"Yeah, you remember those, don't you? From the old days, when you used to do the girl cop routine? _Wow,_ " he said, obviously loving the memories of who they used to be.

She stared at him in a mixture of disbelief and disgust. "Really? _Now?!_ You're a pig," she snapped before getting out of the car and slamming the door behind her. It turned out she had been an idiot to think that-just for even a minute-that he could be the guy that she loved and missed every second of every day. They would never be the same and it was about time that she accepted it…

"Amanda!" Michael called out as he got out of the car, jogging to catch up to her. "Hey, what'd I say?"

"What do you think?" she said in a low voice, but just loud enough for her overwhelming anger to seep into her words. "God, I can't believe I thought you maybe weren't a complete selfish ass for a second…"

" _Seriously?_ _This_ is what you're pissed about? The cop comment?" he asked, looking like he was about to burst out laughing at her. "You're really fuckin' ridiculous, you know that?

"It's not just that! It's fucking _everything_ you say and do now! All you do is talk about the life that we tried to escape from for over _ten years!_ " she said, voice raising with each bitter word, making her husband more paranoid by the second. They were out on the sidewalk now, and what little pedestrians were around were starting to stare, but that didn't stop her. "Every time you look at me or the kids, I can just see that you'd rather be anywhere else. And that _look_ in your eyes today...I haven't seen that since we left North Yankton-"

Michael grabbed her still-aching wrist before she escalated into full-on shouting at him. She'd started to tell him to _"let me go, you asshole"_ before he stared at her with steely eyes and harshly said, "Let's go back to the car."

When he saw her roll her eyes, he started tugging her along before she put up another fight. "Fuck's sakes, 'Mand, we don't want the cops called on us again. And don't you worry, you can still yell at me back there," he muttered in annoyance.

" _Fine,"_ she conceded, storming back to the beaten-up cop car. "But I'm sitting in the front this time."

"Fine," he said. Wordlessly, he started the car back up and allowed them to lapse into another awkward silence. They were just about to start driving again when he said, "Shoplifting _and_ you bit a cop, huh? I woulda paid to see that…"

If looks could kill, he would've been dead on the spot. " _Stop_ ," she warned him.

He shrugged. "I'm just wonderin' why you did it," he said in a suspiciously innocent voice. "You haven't done it since we were back in Yankton. Wonder if it was for the same reason you do everything now…"

"Oh, yeah? And what would that reason be?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him, practically begging for a challenge.

"Because you want attention. Just. Like. A. Little…" he trailed off, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her towards him until she was in his lap. "...kid."

"Umm…" she said in a daze, not able to concentrate between the way his hand trailed up and down her arm and the low voice he was using and _fuck_ it was getting hard to be mad at him. She shook her head, trying to snap herself out of whatever mind game he was trying to use on her. "Ugh, fuck you, Michael!" she managed to snap at him. "I'm not one of your hookers that you can just take to a random alley and charm into getting you laid!"

"Ah, really? 'Cause the more you say 'fuck you' to me, the more I get the feelin' that that's exactly what you want to do…" he smirked, noting the way that she let him pull her into his lap. One of his hands traveled over to her thigh, and the other quickly moved over and started rubbing against the front of her jeans when she didn't protest.

"You-you're such a dick, you know that?" she stuttered, having to bite her lip to keep herself from gasping. It had been a while since he'd touched her like that, especially down there.

"And you love it," he whispered, leaning in so that his lips lightly brushed against hers as he talked.

" _No,_ I don't," she said. She was trying to convince herself more than him, but it obviously wasn't working. Michael had always made her act like a flustered idiot, and now definitely was not an exception.

"Nice try," he chuckled sarcastically. His hand started to wander further down her pants, fingers carelessly brushing past her underwear and rubbing against her skin, eliciting something between a frustrated sigh and a whimper from her. "But you ain't fooling either of us, darling-"

That was all she needed. "Oh, just fuck off and kiss me," she finally said before grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and kissing him.

It was rough. Lips grinded against lips, tongues crashed against tongues, hands grabbed at clothes in their hate-fueled kiss that was only interrupted for quick gasps for breath. Much to her annoyance, she could feel him smirking against her lips and knew that she needed to remind her that he didn't have her _that_ easily.

With a smile of her own, she held his lower lip in between her teeth and bit down, not stopping until she could taste the faintest hint of his blood and he pulled away from the kiss. "Ow," he muttered, deadpan as he wiped away the beads of blood forming on his lips.

"Well, you _did_ seem really interested that I bit the cop earlier…" she said in the same put-upon voice that she used to use as a stripper all those years ago, and the effect it had on Michael quickly became apparent. He looked at her with hearts practically in his eyes, and those deep breaths and teasing hands told her everything. _I still got it,_ she thought smugly.

"Fuck...you're really hot when you're pissed off," Michael said, panting. He looked at her hungrily for a long moment, obviously thinking of all the things he wanted to do to her, before saying, "Backseat. Now."

* * *

Everything that happened for the first few minutes in the back of the car were a blur to her. Hands wandered, lips wandered, and soon enough they found most of their clothes littered on the floor of the car. All she had left was her bra and underwear; Michael was down to his unbuttoned shirt and boxers.

He was currently kissing at her neck, his teeth grazing at her skin the whole time. Oh, he knew full well that he'd give her a hickey, but he-the stupid alpha male that he was-probably wanted it.

As if reading her mind, he laughed against her skin and muttered, "Have fun hiding this from your little boyfriends."

Amanda rolled her eyes at him. "You are _such_ a damn child…" she sighed in annoyance, but grabbed him by the hair and pulled him closer, anyway. She _should_ have been furious that he was getting what he wanted yet again, but she couldn't help herself. Michael knew exactly how to make her a begging mess, and what he was doing now certainly did not help her fight it.

With her snarky comment, Michael perked up as if getting an idea and managed to pull himself away from her neck. He sat up, much to Amanda's frustration, and started fishing through their pile of clothes, obviously looking for something.

"What the hell are you doing-?" she had started to yell at him before he reappeared with a triumphant smirk on his face and the handcuffs in his hands. It took her all of two seconds to start objecting. "Oh _no._ Michael, I swear to God _-"_

Before she could fully cuss him out, it was too late. One handcuff clicked around one of her wrists, and the other quickly followed, leaving her completely at Michael's mercy. That mercy, however, may have been nonexistent judging from his cocky smile and low laugh. "Well…" he chuckled. "You said I was being a child, so I figured I may as well start actin' like one."

Amanda could only glare at him.

"Aw, c'mon, 'Mand, doesn't this take you back?" he asked in a nostalgic tone, toying with the handcuffs bound tightly around her wrists. "Ah, except it's you in these this time and not me…"

And there it was again. That damn annoying longing for things that happened over two decades ago (the peak of their sex life, for example). She would have chewed him out for it like she did earlier, but A) it actually did take her back and B) as much as she hated to admit it, she kind of liked it: the feeling of the handcuffs digging into her skin, her husband's fingers lightly traveling across her wrists, and even that stupid smirk he was giving her. "You know what? Fine. Do your worst, Michael," she spat out.

He laughed, making her regret saying that almost immediately. "Oh, don't you worry about that, darlin'," he said before leaning down to her again. Michael started to kiss her again, but his lips wandered away from her mouth this time. Downwards, to her jaw, to her neck, to her collarbone, and finally settling over the top of her bra, making her sigh in pleasure underneath him.

"Hmm…" he murmured against her chest. "You've been a bad girl today, Mandy. And I think you deserve a little punishm-"

She rolled her eyes at his god awful attempt to "set the mood" or whatever he was trying to do. " _Really_?" she asked. "Stop it."

"Stop what? This?" His mouth was between her breasts now. "Or this?" he said before reaching down and tugging her soaked underwear from her legs in one swift motion.

That shut her up. "Uhh, n-nothing," she stuttered, trying her best not to struggle too hard against the handcuffs. She so wished that she could grab him by the hair and do it at her own pace, but she had a feeling that he was-as always-enjoying teasing her. "Just kiss me."

Michael happily obliged and moved his lips back to hers. One of his hands, meanwhile, moved back down to where it was earlier, except now there was no underwear for him to play with. He lazily traced a few circles around her bare skin at first, but it wasn't long before a couple of his fingers slipped inside of her.

Not even his lips against hers could stifle her initial moan when he started pumping those fingers in and out. Her breath was coming out in short gasps as she writhed against his teasing hands in pleasure, and she had to bite her tongue to keep the needy whimpers at bay.

It took all she had to not try and get the whole thing over with quickly, but Michael was already doing that for her. He easily set the pace: quick enough to turn her into a sweating, begging mess in desperate need for release, but slow enough to deny her the pleasure. Oh, he full well knew what he was doing, judging by the smile she could feel against her lips, and was probably loving every second of it.

"You know what to say," he whispered, voice raspy in her ear.

By now, the climax that was building up was too big for her to ignore. Amanda couldn't even manage to find the energy to glare at him when she moaned out, "Michael, p-please…"

With that one word, he finally sped up a little, and just enough to send her over the edge. Even the handcuffs clanging against the car door from her struggling weren't loud enough to drown out her sounds of pleasure as she finished.

Tremors ran down through her entire body for a good few minutes afterwards; every single inch of her was taut and tight from pure ecstasy. Her body was limp under Michael's, who patiently peppered her skin with kisses as he waited for her to come down from the high.

The second she regained her energy was an entirely different story. The force she used to move against the handcuffs probably would've broken them if they weren't real, police-issued ones. The red marks she'd have after this would be awful, she knew, but she didn't care anymore. She didn't say anything, but Michael easily seemed to grasp what she wanted.

"Already, huh?" he panted, obviously still worked up, too. Still, his hand moved down to the opening of his boxers, and before they knew it, he was moving himself inside of her.

Slowly, they built up to their familiar rhythm: him kissing her neck, her hips grinding against his, him bucking up against her. All words were lost in their satisfaction-no more snarky comments or insults thrown as they became lost into the sensation and each other's bodies.

It was different than usual; a lot less choreographed and dull than what little sex they'd had lately was like. For once, they weren't the superficial robots that they'd turned into during their time in Los Santos. There was a little bit of messiness, and a lot of passion. Hatred or love; neither of them could quite tell, but it didn't make a difference as they fucked in the backseat of the car like they were twenty again.

"Fuckin' _A_ , Mandy..." he finally muttered, breaking their silence. "You are still so goddamn amazing…"

 _I know_ , she so wanted to tell him, but all that came out between her pathetic attempts of words were incoherent moans. " _Fuck_ , Michael," she whined. "I…"

Smiling weakly, he leaned down and let his lips graze against her ear. "Come for me, baby…"

That was all she needed. A couple more seconds and her eyes rolled in the back of her head as she moaned out his name and went over the edge. Seconds of mutual silence followed before she could feel him let out a groan and do the same, too.

Moments later, he collapsed back against the seat, catching his breath and laughing weakly. "Holy shit," he muttered before glancing over to her, who was still laying down with her hands cuffed above her head. For the second time within the hour, he fished out the key and uncuffed her, letting the handcuffs fall against the floor.

"Thanks," she murmured, managing to sit up and rest her head against her shoulder. "So...what a day, huh?"

He chuckled at the massive understatement. From running to the cops to having sex in the backseat of the police car, neither of them couldn't have expected it in their wildest dreams. "Yeah, hell of a day," he said, eyes flickering back to hers and the adrenaline and want that still lingered in them. "You thinking about round 2, too?"

She immediately perked up and held up the handcuffs with a smirk. "Only if you wear them this time."


	36. Is There Somewhere

_Hello again! Been a while, but I plan on updating a lot more regularly this time (along with starting a new multichapter within a few weeks…). This is probably one of my favorite chapters that I've ever written. Because of my overwhelming pile of headcanons of Michael and Amanda's childhood as well as my burning desire to write about Amanda's backstory, I wrote this chapter, where Amanda realizes she's in love in a motel room during the winter of 1991. (Title comes from "Is There Somewhere" by Halsey, which inspired this fic. As always, enjoy, review and all of that stuff!_

 _(P.S. Been thinking about starting a tumblr account to write about short headcanons and post moodboards and stuff, but not sure how popular it'd be. If any of you would like it, let me know!)_

* * *

Smoke drifted lazily through the air in gray tendrils, twisting itself into vague shapes in the dim yellow light of their motel room. ShapTitlees of cars and people and animals. A dog, Michael even told her through another puff of his cigarette.

Amanda took another drag herself, making the smoke thicken above them. _Probably the closest we'll get to cloud gazing_ , she lamented. It was a miracle that they'd even managed to find time for a motel room instead of just fucking in the back room of the strip club, which was basically the extent of their two-month long relationship.

She pushed the thoughts aside as the smoke started to dissipate. "What do you see?" she asked him. They'd been doing this the whole night, to spice up their "in between rounds of sex" cigarette breaks: picking shapes from the smoke and giving them personalities as if they were astrology signs.

"I dunno...A cloud?" he said dumbly, laughing at his own joke. She briefly wondered if he'd dipped into their weed stash while she'd been in the bathroom. He smiled over at her, and the lucidity in his admittedly _gorgeous_ blue eyes told her he was anything but high.

For a moment, she became a little too distracted with his stupidly, unfairly attractive face and the bead of sweat that traveled down from his messy, short black hair (she _so_ wished that she could smooth it back) all the way down to his muscular chest. Michael looked at her expectantly, as if just waiting for her to call him out.

"Um, right," she said distractedly before playfully slapping his arm. "Something _besides_ a cloud, you idiot."

He sighed in defeat. "Ahhh, fine. A gun," he said, putting the cigarette between his fingers and pointing up at the cloud of smoke in an imitation of his pistol, a muted _"bang"_ coming from his lips. "A smart motherfucker. Clean, strong, good in a fight. Gets shit _done._ Sound like anyone we know?"

"Well, I'd say Trevor, but then you just _had_ to add 'smart' and 'gets shit done,'" she said teasingly. "So I think that sounds just like you."

Michael smiled faintly at the gun-shaped cloud that soon faded back into the air. "Yeah, I like that one," he said almost wistfully. "You see anything, Mandy?"

She looked up towards the ceiling, trying to make sense of the haze. Through the thick smoke, she finally managed to make out something: a couple of wings, a beak, even. "I see... a bird."

"A bird?" he asked in disbelief, squinting up at the ceiling.

" _Yeah_ , a bird," she said. "Birds are free, Michael. They can fly anywhere. any time they want. Up and up and never come back down…"

He sat up, stamping his cigarette out in the nearly-full ash tray they'd kept next to the bed, and looked at her almost pityingly. "You wish that was you, don't you?"

She put out her own cigarette, which had nearly burned down to her fingers by now. "I...I guess I do," she said sadly. "I've never been outside of this god awful state, unless you count one trip to _South_ Yankton when I was a kid. I...I just know there's more out there than just North Yankton. More that I'll probably never get to see because I've been stuck here my whole life and I can't see myself ever getting out."

"Maybe one day we can go somewhere," Michael said softly, hesitantly settling his free hand over hers. "Anywhere but here."

"I'd like that," she murmured before coming to her senses and stiffening up. They'd never really talked this deeply, aside from the usual surface-level "getting-to-know-each-other" bullshit. "Um, sorry...I didn't mean to just talk that much…"

Now _he_ was looking at her as if she was high. There was something almost cautious in the way he looked at her, the way he touched her. It held a gentleness that she'd never seen in anyone before, let alone any other guy. "No, don't be sorry," he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I...I think you should do it more, actually."

"Maybe I should," she said hesitantly before reaching over to the nightstand and grabbing another cigarette to calm her nerves. She held out the pack to him, offering one of the few cigarettes left to him. "One more before round...four? Five? I kinda lost track..."

"Think it was five," he said with a laugh. "And nah, I think I'm good for now. You go on ahead, though." He flicked his lighter on, holding out the small flame until her cigarette lit up. She smiled at him, at the sight of his familiar, beloved silver lighter that he'd engraved his initials on with a knife. _MT._ Michael _fucking_ Townley, who she couldn't seem to get out of her head lately.

Michael caught her staring at it, and smirked over at her. "You like that, huh? Well, one second…" he said, trailing off as he got up, still stark naked, and went to where his jacket was discarded on the floor along with the rest of their clothes. He dug around for a moment, before appearing with a triumphant smile and his pocket knife in hand.

He got back into the bed with her, skin still slick with sweat against hers, and grabbed his lighter. Carefully, he held the knife up to the side of the lighter and started carving at it until two letters became visible right under his own initials: _AC._

"There you go, Ms. Cooper," he said, proudly showing his handiwork off to her. "Least it's not as cheesy as carving our initials into a tree with a heart 'round it…"

"Hm, I don't know…" she drawled out with a teasing smile. "I wouldn't put it past you, darling. You _are_ pretty cheesy from all those old movies you watch."

He looked at her in faux pain. "You hurt me, Mandy. I'll have you know I got some of my best lines from stuff like Rum Runner."

"Define 'best,'" she laughed, earning an annoyed sigh from her boyfriend (or would "fuck buddy" be more appropriate? She couldn't remember the last time they'd actually had time for a date).

"Okay, _ow._ Way to ruin the game plan I've had since I was 16: use movie lines on pretty girls and hope my ruggedly good looks will do the rest," he muttered, wrapping his arms around her. "And don't you worry. My fuckin' _amazing_ movie taste is bound to rub off on you sooner or later."

"God I hope not," she said. "And as for your 'game plan': it's a good thing you're pretty, Townley. Your jock status in high school probably helped, too." She reached over to his arm around her waist, feeling the wiry muscles beneath her fingertips.

"Ah, high school," Michael said longingly. "Things were easier back then."

"Oh, I bet they were, Mr. All-star Quarterback," she purred, resting her hand on his chest.

High school had been fun for her, too, at first. Sneaking out with her friends while her mother and whatever stepfather she had at the time were too wrapped up in themselves to notice, drinking cheap beer and partying instead of studying, waking up with hangovers and hickeys on her neck...and then her grades started to tank, and then she ended up here, having to take her clothes off in front of guys for money.

 _Story of my life, I guess._

"...'Mand?" he asked her hesitantly, still touching her in that unfamiliar way that made her heart pound against her chest. "You okay?"

 _Not really._ "Yeah, um, sorry," Amanda lied shakily. "Just thinking too much."

"Let me take your mind off that, then," he said softly, reaching over and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear before pressing his lips against hers.

He kissed her, tongue tasting of Redwood cigarettes and cheap whiskey against her own. His lips traveled downward, planting a trail of hot, fiery kisses along her jawline and onto her neck, no doubt feeling the thump of her pulse against his mouth. Against her chest, she could feel his own heart pounding and briefly wondered if he felt the same as her, the same damn feelings that she'd tried so hard to not get with anyone else before.

Amanda sighed against his lips in anticipation, reaching up and running her hands through his soft black hair and roughly pulling him back on top of her.

He laughed shakily in between kisses. "Round five it is, then," he said before leaning back down and pressing kisses against her collarbone, muttering in awe against her skin, "You're so fuckin' beautiful…"

 _Beautiful,_ he'd told her countless times that night. No other guy had called her that, she realized. Pretty, yes. Sexy, a _lot_. Same went for "hot." Gorgeous, occasionally, but never beautiful. It made her heart flutter a little bit. There was a nice ring to it, admittedly.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him eagerly at the thought, which he quickly reciprocated. Each new kiss grew more fervent than the last, and, soon enough, they were beneath the sheets again forgetting where each other ended and began.

They fucked underneath the dim yellow lights and white sheets of the motel room, so different from their usual hot, hasty, animalistic sex in the back of the strip club. No more pressure or pretenses, it was only them and their own thoughts.

Once they were finished and laying tangled together again, her head against his shoulder and his arms around her waist, she knew for the first time what making love was like.

 _Love._

She stopped herself cold there. Nope. It couldn't be. Michael was a casual fling, that was it, and soon enough he would be gone, having skipped town for the next bank or store that caught his eye, and she'd be nothing but another hookup to brag about. Nothing but another tally mark in the list of girls that had fallen for his looks and charm. It was about time she accepted that…

His soft voice gently invaded her thoughts. "Hey, Amanda?" he asked hesitantly, looking down at her as if unsure about something.

"Yeah?" she managed shakily, distracting herself with tracing a finger over one of the scars on his chest.

"We've been together a couple months now, right? And... well, shit, I barely know anything about you and I think it's about time I changed that," he said almost shyly. For just a minute, a flash of vulnerability showed in the cocky, fearless Michael Townley, and it made those feelings swell up again in her mind.

This time she didn't try to push them away. "Well…" she said with a smile, turning on her side to face him. "What do you wanna know?"

"Everythin'," he said, moving closer to her and taking his hand in hers. "I just wanna know everything about you."

Shit, where did she even _start_ about her mess of a life? _From the beginning, I guess._

"Okay, Townley, your wish is my command. I was born into this god-awful town with two sisters and parents who got divorced when I was a kid. I had a shitty childhood stuck with my mom and whatever boy toy she had at the time. Years passed and I promised myself that I'd leave North Yankton some day and never end up like her," she said, bitterness seeping into every word she had. "Then high school came and I snuck out and partied too much. Then it ended...and, um, I fucked up my chances of going to college and finally making something of myself…"

She paused for a second, glossing over the worst time of her life: the day she turned 18 and her mother all but forced her to step on stage at the local strip club. Tears formed in her eyes, angry and resentful, and she blinked them away before they had a chance to escape. Michael looked over at her almost pityingly and gripped her hand a little tighter, sending her back to reality.

"And then I ended up here, telling you the pathetic story of my life. The end," she said, hanging her head with a self-deprecating laugh.

"Hey, it's _not_ pathetic, okay?" he said softly, a rare softness in his eyes. "That makes you even stronger to me now."

For a lingering moment, they looked into each other eyes a little too intensely before they both had to look away awkwardly.

"So…" she drawled out, averting his gaze and those stupidly gorgeous baby blue eyes. "Your turn, darling."

"My turn?" he asked, raising his eyebrows in shock.

She leaned in closer to him, looking at him through fluttered lashes, and her lips brushed lightly against his when she whispered, "Who ever said that I didn't wanna learn more about you, too?"

He laughed a little nervously. "Well, I'm afraid it's more of the same: poor childhood growin' up in a trailer park with my parents. My mom wasn't so bad, but my dad was a mean son of a bitch…" he said, swallowing hard and eyes growing distant for a second. She could tell that he, like her, was blocking out the worst of the memories.

"Anyway," he continued. "I used football to escape that shit and keep myself sane. Then one day when I was seventeen he-fuck-I mean _I_ broke my throwing arm. Got kicked off the team and lost the scholarships I'd been offered for college and that was that. Dad skipped town a while after. Or was hit by a train or joined the Navy; I was told so many stories I lost count…"

She looked at him in a mixture of surprise and pity. This was way more than she'd expected from him, and knew how much it had to have hurt to tell her. "Shit, Michael, I'm sorry...if I would've known-"

He waved his hand, cutting her off. "It's fine. Honestly. I've been holding it in for six years and I'm just glad someone listened. Plus what you told me must not have been easy either, so I guess we're even," he said, pausing as a mischievous glint formed in his eyes. "Now that that stuff is over with, can we talk about something more simple, Mandy?"

She giggled a little, attempting to lighten the mood. "Sure, babe. Like what?"

"Ah…" he trailed off, narrowing his eyebrows in concentration. "Shit, something like 'if you could go anywhere in the whole damn world, where would you go?'"

"Hmm...well at least it's not as cheesy as 'what's your favorite color?'" she said with a teasing smile. "That's actually kind of hard, but probably somewhere in San Andreas. I hear Los Santos and Las Venturas have a _hell_ of a party scene."

"Yeah, probably a lot better than doing rails in the back room of the club, huh?" he chuckled. "Vinewood for me too. Gotta see where all the best movies are made."

She nodded, smiling a little. Of course he'd choose Los Santos. "Okay, _my_ turn _,_ Townley. What did you wanna do when you were a kid? You strike me as the kind of guy who didn't always wanna be a bank robber growing up…"

"Well, you got me there," he muttered. "I was always kinda banking on my football career working out, but if it weren't for that, I woulda loved to work in the movies as a director or producer or something."

"You'd be good at it. I can tell," she said, earning a crooked smile from him. "As for me, I had no fucking idea other than that I liked to dance. It sounds stupid...but I always wanted to be a dancer. I guess I am, in a way," she said with a bitter laugh.

"Hey, you'd be fuckin' _amazing_ at it. I'd go to every one of your performances," he said reassuringly, giving her the vivid image of him sitting in a front row with flowers in his hand and a proud grin on his face. "Alright, back to me now: what, Amanda Cooper, is your biggest fear?"

"I get _horrible_ claustrophobia," she smirked, but her smile faltered as she thought of what she was _really_ afraid of: of ending up like her mother, of being alone and bitter and full of regrets with kids that hated her guts. She didn't wanna kill the mood, though. "Now...what could the great, fearless Michael Townley _possibly_ be afraid of?"

"Heights," he answered without so much as a second of hesitation. "I really fucking hate heights."

"That's...surprising, to say the least," she said, frowning slightly. She'd expected something a little more obvious from him, like being shot or arrested or _something_.

"A bit anticlimactic, huh?" he asked, laughing. "Sorry to disappoint you, honey."

"No, not really. I just think it's funny is all," she said, laughing to herself at the thought of him being perfectly fine while in the middle of a gunfight but freaking out the second he went on top of a building that was more than two stories high. "Okay, my turn…"

They went on like that for a while, asking each other questions about their disappointing pasts and hopeful futures. Almost an hour later, judging by the decrepit clock hanging on the motel room's wall, they knew each other more than they ever had in the short time than in the two months they'd been together. Slowly, throughout countless questions, his cocky, charming facade had started to crumble, the chinks in the armor revealing the almost shy and insecure hopeless romantic that she'd never thought he'd be.

One thing had made itself clear to her during that time: Michael Townley had fallen hard for her and he'd fallen _fast_. And if there was one thing clear to her now, judging by the way that he held her and kissed her like she was more than just an object to be fucked and ignored afterwards and the way her heart pounded against her chest whenever he so much as looked at her: she had fallen for him in the exact same way.

"Amanda?" he said softly, looking up at her. They'd been quiet for the last few minutes, wrestling with their feelings as she ran her fingers through his hair and he hummed in contentment beneath her.

"Hm?" she murmured because she couldn't trust her voice to form any more words. She teased her hand through his dark locks, trying to hide the shakiness of herself.

"I think I'm falling in love with you…" he whispered, and when his eyes met hers, they were filled with a mixture of excitement and pure, unbridled fear.

She took his face in her shaky hands, tilting it up to hers as she leaned closer to him. Right before their lips met, she said, "I think I am, too…"


	37. So It Goes

_Hello and welcome back to another chapter :D ! I'm going to try to be updating this fic in between the new multichapter I've started (check it out if you haven't already!) and there may or may not be some Christmas/New Year's chapters planned…_

 _Anyway, this chapter is about a sad/angsty little encounter between Michael and Amanda in 1996 after he doesn't come home for a while after a job. Enjoy!_

* * *

Three weeks. Twenty-one days. Almost a month since her husband had kissed her goodbye before leaving her and their children to go rob another bank. _"This'll be the one, baby, I promise,"_ he'd murmured against her lips before getting into the truck with his partners in crime. The one where he'd finally make it big and they could run off and be happy, be normal.

But that was what he always said. Every time he ran off, he said that same sentence to her and would return anywhere from a week to a month later, wordless and covered in cuts and bruises with barely enough cash to cover a couple months' rent. They'd argue for a while, maybe have frustrated makeup sex, and then fall asleep acting like nothing happened. And then a few weeks later, the cycle would start again. _So it goes._

Amanda put her head in her hands, sighing, and glanced over at the clock in between her fingers. _4:00am_. Nearly morning and she hadn't gotten a minute of sleep. She couldn't remember the last time she _did_ , to be honest. Days? A couple weeks?

Part of it was a small glimmer of hope that Michael would come back; the other part was knowing that the kids would wake her up, anyway. Jimmy, in his newest phase of his "terrible twos," seemed to be taking after his father in the sense that he never slept through an entire night. And then when he woke up, Tracey inevitably did, and then the questions would start. _"Mommy, where's Daddy?"_ she asked her every night, clutching her teddy bear with innocent eyes wide with sadness and obliviousness. _"I miss Daddy."_

Every. Single. Night.

" _Daddy's out working, honey,"_ was always Amanda's reply as she tucked her little five-year-old girl back in. _"He'll be back before you know it." Liar, liar,_ the mantra in her head always chanted. She never had the heart to tell her daughter that she had no idea if he was even alive, let alone where he was. One day, she knew she needed to, but she was going to try to protect her from that pain for as long as she could.

At first, she thought the roaring of her husband's truck and the headlights coming up the driveway was some hallucination that her sleep-deprived brain was torturing her with. But then she heard the car shut off and then heard his muffled curses as he struggled with his keys. "Fuckin' A," he finally muttered when he finally got it open.

The scent of alcohol filled the trailer the second the door opened and he stepped inside, grinning at her a little _too_ happily. He didn't look too worse for wear this time around, aside from dark circles under his eyes and the scent of cheap alcohol that hung off him like it was a perfume. " _Hellooooo,_ Amanda, my darlin'!" Michael drawled out loudly, making her wince.

" _Shh,"_ she said harshly, anger seeping into her voice. "The kids are asleep, not that you give a shit."

"I'm _sorry_ , babe," he slurred, reaching out for her, but she quickly pulled away from him. "I _do_ give a shit. Honestly."

"Really?" she asked with faux curiosity, leaning against the kitchen counter with a glare. "Because any father who _did_ would be here with his kids and his wife, not God only knows where for a _month_ drinking with his maniac friends. I've been here, raising our children by myself while you're out fucking around."

"I fuckin' _told_ you where I'd be," he said, frustration starting to get into his drunken words. "Carcer City. Taking a score with T and the guys. I swear, 'Mand, I jus' got back tonight."

She rubbed her fingers at her forehead, trying to chase away the massive headache that was forming. She couldn't figure out why she was so angry, it was routine, after all, but she couldn't help herself this time. "And you chose to get drunk instead of coming home? You are un-fucking-believable, Michael."

"Whatever," he muttered before putting the duffel bag strapped to his shoulder onto the kitchen table and unzipping it, revealing the stacks of cash inside. _Stacks of blood money, more like._ "You're fuckin' welcome. Maybe we can actually pay the bills on time this month. Maybe this'll stop your _complaining_ for two seconds."

" _Complaining?!_ " she hissed, still trying to keep her voice down. "Tell me something, _darling_ : do you think I enjoy lying for you? Saying you'll be back soon even though if I'm not sure you're even alive?"

"I'm here, ain't I?" he asked, spreading his arms out as if to prove his point. "An' you know that you don't have to lie to them."

"Oh, I'm _sorry,_ Michael, for trying to protect their image of you. You should be _grateful_ , honestly, because you're at least not considered the worse parent whenever you make them do something that they don't like," she said bitterly, looking towards the kids' room sadly. "I'm tired of being the bad guy who needs to make the tough decisions while _dear old daddy_ is gone for months at a time and is the wounded hero!"

"Sorry they see the fuckin' _truth_. If it weren't for me, you'd still be banging guys in their cars in some alleyway for money," he said harshly. Muttering curses under his breath, he carelessly tossed his coat onto the couch along with his gun holster. He crossed over to the fridge and pulled out a beer, popping it open and taking a long pull.

Amanda watched him in disgust and anger. He always drank too much after a job, either to celebrate or to fill the fucked-up pit in his heart that she could never replace, she could never tell. The former wasn't so bad because he was usually a happy, cute kind of drunk, but she had a feeling that tonight was the latter, judging by the resentment that he seemed to hold for her and the way his fingers curled tightly around the bottle.

"You're gonna get yourself killed one of these days chasing after all of these stupid jobs, you know that, you idiot?" she spat out.

Michael took a swig from his beer, glaring at her. "I'm _fine_. I've been doin' this for eight years already, and I'm telling you, Amanda, that I'm finally on the verge-"

"Oh, you're _always_ on the verge!" she said. "You tell me this _every_ time, and what changes? _Nothing_. I swear to God, Michael, your obsession with this is gonna fuck all of us over…"

"Obsession?" he asked in disbelief, slamming his beer down on the counter with a resounding _thud_. " _I'm_ obsessed?"

"You are _missing_ our kids' childhood because you're always robbing some bank or store on the other side of the state!" she yelled, too angry to care about keeping her voice down anymore. "Why can't you just be happy with what you have?"

"I don't know!" Michael shouted back, running his hands through his hair in frustration, before his broad shoulders slumped tiredly. "I don't know…"

She tried to blink back the tears of frustration forming in her eyes. "Can... can you just stay for a while this time? We...the kids miss you, Michael…" she said, voice shaking a little.

He rolled his eyes at that. "You know that's not how this thing works," he said dismissively. "I'll go whenever I goddamn wanna."

"Well, maybe that's how it _should_ work! At least then I'd get a say on what happens in this relationship!" She shoved him away from her, hoping- _praying_ -that he would feel something, that he wouldn't just stand there indifferently like always.

He barely even moved and looked down at her with more annoyance than anger. "I think you get enough already," he said, voice muffled against his beer bottle.

She stared at the alcohol in his hand in hatred. She'd always hated it. Always hated how the drink made him act, always hated how he downed bottle after bottle, always hated the slurred words he said in front of the kids.

Before she even knew it, she had the bottle in her hand and was smashing it against the floor. Broken glass and beer splattered at their feet, spilling all over the tile floor. She shut her eyes, letting out a deep breath, and braced herself for what was to come.

"What the fuck, Amanda?!" he immediately yelled, fists clenched at his side. His face turned red, not just from the drunkenness, and his jaw started to tick in that way it did when he was _really_ pissed off.

"I think you've had _plenty_ to drink tonight," she said, venom dripping from her voice, but her hands were still shaking, betraying her nervousness and fear.

" _You_ ," he spat out. He stepped closer to her, glass shards crunching beneath his shoes, and didn't stop until he had her backed up against the wall. He towered over her, leaving her shaking beneath him. His clenched hands twitched at his side, aching for something to punch. "Aren't fucking in charge of me. I go out and get money to provide for us, and _this_ is the thanks I get?!"

The man standing above her may have looked like her husband, but he was _not_ him. He was just a drunken impostor holding him captive inside of his mind. As she stood cowering against the wall, she could finally see the dark figure that had plagued Michael's childhood, the one who'd abused him until he was seventeen, the one man that Michael would never _ever_ want to be compared to: his father. Michael would never lay a hand on her, she knew that, but what she was seeing scared her.

"Michael, please," she said shakily, feeling new tears spring at the edges of her eyes. "You are a _lot_ of things, but you are _not_ your father."

As if he was snapping out of a trance, he stepped back, a look of hurt and betrayal crossing his face. All of the anger seemed to fade from him, replaced by regret and a newfound soberness. Fear formed in his eyes, and it was fear of himself more than anything. "I'm sorry…" he said quietly, stepping further back. "I'm so sorry…"

Like clockwork, Jimmy's crying interrupted them before they could say anything else. Michael wordlessly put his head down and started for the kids' bedroom, but she interrupted him before he could get there.

"I got it," Amanda sighed tiredly. "Just go. Go to bed. I'll be there soon."

He did, shutting their bedroom gently behind him and leaving her alone with her thoughts. The second she heard that door shut, she sunk down the wall, put her face in her hands, and let the silent tears run down her red cheeks.

She couldn't stay there for more than a minute, though, when her son's crying became too loud to ignore. Trying to not lament the state of her pathetic life, she uneasily stood up (avoiding the glass shards) and walked into the kids' room where she found her toddler crying in his crib.

"Hey there, honey," she whispered, picking her son up and rocking him in her arms with a weak smile. "Sorry we woke you up…"

Jimmy, all bright red curls and dimples, smiled and giggled up at her, his crying soon forgotten. For a moment, that smile made the all the sleepless nights worth it and made her forget about what just happened with Michael. "You're lucky you're cute, you know that?" she asked him. "And you don't ask any hard questions…"

Luckily, her son fell back asleep quickly (now that all the screaming was over with, of course). She had just taken a deep, relieved breath and had started for the door when she heard her daughter's voice.

"Mommy?"

 _Fuck._

Amanda put on a painfully forced smile and turned to face her daughter, who was sitting up in her bed and looking at her through tired eyes. "Yeah, sweetie?" she asked in the most cheerful voice she could muster.

Tracey clutched her teddy bear to her chest and was shifting nervously in between her blankets when she asked, "Is Daddy back yet? I heard you two yelling really loudly…"

 _Of course you did,_ Amanda thought with a wince. Her and Michael hadn't exactly been subtle about it and the breaking glass probably didn't help matters. "Daddy and I just had a little disagreement, honey," she said. "You can see him in the morning-"

"But I wanna see him _now_ ," Tracey protested with a glare that eerily reminded her of Michael.

Amanda sighed, somewhere between irritation and sadness. Sometimes she could be _too_ much like her father. "Tracey," she started slowly. "Daddy's _really_ tired from working. You wouldn't wanna wake him up, would you?"

"No…" Tracey muttered before her small shoulders slumped in defeat. She laid back down on the bed, the faintest hint of a pout still on her face. "Sorry, Mommy…"

"It's okay," Amanda said soothingly, brushing stray locks of hair away from her daughter's face and tucking her back in with a light kiss to the forehead before starting for the door. "Good night, Trace. I love you…"

"I love you, Mommy," Tracey murmured tiredly just before Amanda shut the door behind her.

The second that Amanda stepped back into the living room, she was reminded of her argument with her husband, which she'd briefly forgotten about in the midst of dealing with the kids. She shut her eyes briefly, trying to keep her emotions at bay.

They were on borrowed time, she'd known that from the second she'd seen the positive pregnancy test and the ring he'd nervously given her. One of these days she'd finally get the dreaded call from the hospital or-god forbid-the police. The ticking time bomb that they were was destined to go off one way or another.

"How are we going to do this?" she said under her breath as she got out the broom and started to sweep up the broken glass. She didn't know how long they could keep on like this, with him always gone and her in a constant state of worry. Either one of them was bound to go insane, and she had started to get the feeling that it was going to be sooner rather than later.

A few minutes later, she had every single shard of the Pisswasser bottle swept up. The place still reeked of shitty beer, but she was too tired to care. Whatever. She'd fix it tomorrow. It wasn't as if the kids knew what alcohol was. Yet, at least.

Her heart was still thudding in her chest as her hand hesitated over the doorknob to their bedroom. With any luck, Michael was already passed out drunk and wouldn't even remember what happened in the morning. It was what was normal for them, after all.

Amanda had silently been praying that that was the case as she shakily opened the door, only to be met with the sight of her husband sitting up the bed with his hands dug nervously into the sheets. "Amanda-" he immediately started before she waved her hand, cutting him off.

" _Don't_ ," she said, exhausted. "Let's just talk about it in the morning."

"Please, 'Mand?" he said softly. His blue eyes glinted in the darkness of the room, filled with something between tipsiness and regret. "You can yell at me all you want. Call me a pathetic asshole, a fuckin' idiot, I don't care. I jus' wanna talk. I missed you…"

"You aren't acting like it," she muttered as she got into the bed, closest to the edge of her side as she could get.

"I know...I'm sorry," he slurred, turning on his side to face her. "I get drunk and I act out, that's me. I wish it wasn't...but it is. I'm sorry I took it out on you…"

"That's what you always say," she said simply.

He shifted restlessly between the sheets before he moved closer to her, his body inches away from hers. "Yeah, yeah, I sound like a broken fuckin' record...but it's true," he muttered. "I...I just wanna provide for you. For the kids."

"I know that, Michael," she said, voice still hoarse from shouting. "I just don't like who you turn into when you come back."

"I'm sorry," he repeated, the broken record continuing its loop. He stayed silent for a moment before he whispered, "I don't wanna turn into my father…."

Her heart jumped into her throat the second he said that, and all of her lingering anger was soon forgotten. His voice sounded small and scared, just like the kid he was when his father made his life a living hell. Michael always pretended that his childhood didn't affect him, but it did. The look in his eyes when she'd mentioned him and the fear in his voice gave her all the proof she needed.

 _Maybe it's why he drinks,_ she thought. Maybe it was why he always preferred a bottle of whiskey to sleeping. She'd been witness to enough of his liquor-induced breakdowns and nightmares when he was running on only one or two hours of sleep to figure out what caused them. Sometimes he told her what they were about: he dreamt that she got shot or the kids did or that Trevor was finally murdering him. Other times, he didn't, and that was when she knew he was imagining a man looming over him with a belt in one hand and a bottle in the other.

Whenever he woke up screaming, she tried to comfort him about it. She'd hold him, make out with him, fuck him, whatever she thought he needed, and eventually he'd fall back asleep, leaving her to pick up the pieces of trying to understand his mind. She never fully could.

It had been a few months ago when she first wondered to herself if he had PTSD. It was in a book she'd been reading (that was what housewives did, right? Read?) and the more she read, the more it made sense. The insomnia and nightmares had been her first obvious clue, but each new symptom she read made her heart break a little more. The hostility, the emotional detachment, the self-destructive behavior…

Maybe it had started when he shot his first person, maybe it'd been when he robbed his first bank at age 20, maybe it'd been when he landed in prison only a couple months after high school. Maybe it had been when he reached the age where he realized he shouldn't have been just his father's punching bag.

It wasn't until Michael finally said something that she realized how long they'd been silent for. "I'm scared, 'Mand…" he whispered, voice shaking. "Maybe I'm just like him…"

Amanda turned on her side to face him, mentally noting the pure, unfiltered fear in his expression. She took her face in his hands, fingers stroking across his stubbled jawline and the tiny scars that took residency there. "Stop that," she demanded. "You're _not_ just your father's son, Michael. You...you're better than he'll ever be-"

"Am I though?" he asked, twisting his wedding ring around his finger. "I'm a worthless fuckin' drunk asshole. I'm just like him-"

An abrupt kiss to his lips cut off the rest of his sentence. His tongue tasted of cheap relief against hers, but she didn't care. Her hands grabbed fistfuls of his t-shirt as she pulled him flush against her body and desperately tried to pour all of her love into a single kiss.

"Michael Townley," she started breathlessly when she pulled away. " _Please_ believe me when I say that you will _never_ be like your father. You're more than that to me, okay? You always will be."

"Thanks, sweetheart…" he mumbled, words still slurring into one another. A semblance of a smile started to tug at the corner of his mouth. "I love you…"

"I love you, too," she said, but the words felt bittersweet on her tongue. "And Michael?"

"Yeah?"

She snuggled up closer to his chest, placing her hand against his heart so she could feel it thumping beneath his shirt. Things weren't okay, not by a long shot, but at least he was alive and home. "I'm sorry about earlier…"

He shook his head, black strands of hair falling forwards onto his forehead. "Don't...don't you be sorry for _anythin'_ right now. I started it by being a loud drunk idiot. Hell, I deserved it, anyway."

"I just wanted you to stay," she whispered. "Just for a little while."

"I will," he said, earning a shocked look from her. "Honestly. I'll stay for a month this time, babe, I swear. Spend some time with you and the kids. Take your mind off things for a bit…"

"I'd like that, darling…" she murmured, feeling the tiredness start to take hold of her. "I really would…"

"Then I'll stay," he said, wrapping his strong arms that she'd so desperately missed around her. "As long as you need me to."

For the first time in almost a month, Amanda was drifting off to sleep with a smile on her face. "Good...I've missed you, babe. I love you…" she managed to say just before her eyes shut.

He buried his face into the top of her head, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo and letting himself relax for the first time in nearly a month. "Love you, too, Mandy," he mumbled into her hair. "I love you, too…"


End file.
